My parent’s house has a finished, un-finished basement. Which means it’s just barebones—concrete floor, cinderblock walls, basic slat stairs. When I was little, I dragged an old table and a folding chair in amongst the half-full paint cans and dusty golf club bags and set myself up with a cosy little “fort.” I clipped up a work lamp and set to coloring while I listened to the radio. Underneath the stairs. I eventually abandoned the make-shift fort because the basement was cold (I hate being cold, my husband will tell you), and because radio drama can get pretty scary in a dark, lonely basement.

But I’ve still always wanted a fort. Or an old attic, like in the 1994 movie Little Women, or Jo’s New York apartment. Or like the eaves of Polly Plumber’s house in The Magician’s Nephew. Somewhere I can go and write and look out a frosty window onto the outside world.

So this week, I saw the forts of Wesley Logan Bruce and am now obsessed with having a fort again. Totally took me back to the days where I wrote stories about secret attics and lost journals. In the fort world, I doubt that you can get much more amazing. “Fort-tastic” is what I’m calling it.

They’ve got everything you could ever want in a fort. Sloped ceilings, small & peculiar windows, books stashed in nooks & crannies, old mechanical things, maps, crates and pillows all around for having all your best friends come to visit. Sort of Swiss Family Robinson meets Anthropologie.

I shall daydream of these until someday I have a backyard to build a fort to be a studio. And P.S., if someone’s making The Magician’s Nephew into a movie—I want in on that venture.

For more photos of three terrific forts, check out Wesley’s

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