Writers are a superstitious bunch. We believe in ritual. We believe in routine. We believe that if we imbibe the drink of our favorite author, and if we follow the writing quirks of our favorite author, then one day we will assume the publishing life force of our favorite author.

One of the memes we’ve created out of whole cloth is the myth of the “Writer’s Room.” This is the place we’d get those words on paper if we JUST HAD A ROOM WITH A DOOR WITH A LOCK THAT COULD SHUT OUT THE KIDS/SPOUSE/TELEPHONE/GENERAL WORLD OF DISTRACTIONS!

I love the idea. I love the meme. But it’s bullshit. I don’t need a room. I don’t need a café. I don’t need an office. As I’ve written before, I go into a writing trance. I wrote a couple of novels with the kids running past me like warring tribes of Olmecs while I slumped into the couch and just kept typing.

I submit to you, fellow writer who believes in the Writer’s Room, that your writing discipline issues aren’t really rooted in your Real Estate.  But hey. Your delusions are yours to cultivate if you need a scapegoat. Pour the Scotch. If you’re buyin’, then I’m lyin’.

Now, if you have a Writer’s Room and you are still not producing, the next step is to escalate from your Writer’s Room to the Greatest Mythos of All; The Writer’s Cabin.

The Writer’s Cabin. It’s the quadruple bypass for writing issues.  It’s a guaranteed completion of that pesky novel that just won’t seem to finish itself on the USB drive you never plug in.

If the Writer’s Room is bullshit, then the Writer’s Cabin in the Woods is explosive-grade Ammonium Nitrate. But gawd! I love the concept, even if it is a stupid meme. My Cabin in the Woods is the artistically-sterile cabin from Unaccompanied Sonata. I’m pretty sure the meme was introduced to me through the John Belushi movie Continental Divide, where John, a journo, disappears to a cabin in the Rockies to hide from the mob and finish his Great American Novel. Hijinks ensue.

Of course, Salinger famously had a writing bunker. He would pack a lunch pail, put on a pair of Carhardt overalls, and lock himself in his writing bunker for weeks at a time.

Then there’s Theodore Kaczynski. That guy took his Cabin in the Woods experience to a whole new level. Unfortunately, considering the sheer volume of the writing he did, he still sucked at it by the time he was arrested.

The Writer’s Cabin is almost a subliminal plot device. The Shining. Misery. Deathtrap. Finding Forrester (think about it).

Rohld Dahl had a Writer’s Cabin. As did Mark Twain, Thoreau, and Virginia Woolf.

When I started this blog, my original name for the site was going to be “A Writer’s Cabin.” That URL was taken. How about “My Writing Cabin in the Woods?” That was taken too. I tried twenty combinations of “Writer” and “Cabin” and they were all taken. I’m telling you, this particular meme resonates deep within a creative’s soul.

It’s bullshit, but it’s great bullshit.

At the end of the month, I’m going to take a week off to go write at a Cabin in the Woods. Actually, it’s an abandoned motel on a lake. Shades of the Overlook Hotel. Offseason rates. The owner said I will be the only one there. He’ll drive up to check on me, hopefully on a halftrack. He didn’t sound like a magic negro with scat chops, but who knows.

I probably won’t finish my current novel in eight days, as 150 pages is a tall order for such a short timespan. I’m fast, but I’m not that fast.

I suspect what I will really do is drink too much, fish a little, stare at the walls, and think about my wife. I bet I won’t write ten pages during my stay at this Writer’s Cabin in the Woods. It’s an inexpensive lark, really.

But… Why not? I’ve got some vacation to burn. I’ve got some pages that need filled. And I’ve got a supportive wife who didn’t slap her forehead when I broached the topic.

If nothing else, I hope to get my sleep schedule unfucked.

Of course, I’ll let you know how it goes.