I think my love of secret passageways, hidden rooms, escape tunnels, codes, and rebel networks has colored my entire life. Everything I write ends up having at least one of those elements in it.
My grandparents’ house had a cupboard under the stairs, and it was where they kept brooms and stuff like that. I spent many hours pressing on the walls, in search of hidden doors. I also tapped every section of wall in that entire house, with my ear pressed to it, listening for the telltale hollow sound which would indicate the presence of a secret room. I pulled up rugs and pushed on stones and bricks, certain that I would locate the entrance to a tunnel.
It just still remains my dream to find something like that. I sort of think I’m in the wrong part of the country, though.