The water is coming under my head. Waves not necessarily crashing but rolling in nonetheless. I’m 12 ft over it with a healthy serving of concrete pylons and foundation under me. Built to withstand a literal hurricane. These cabins in Fountainbleau State Park in Mandeville, La are a small slice of serenity.
The story of writing and solitude and small living spaces set in the woods are as documented as the works they’ve produced and I can see why. Even though I’m just here for a night, I can see the power of the idea. No distractions, some sort of connection to nature, time to think and to write.
I’ve thought often about going by myself to our place in Canada to just this, but explaining to your family that you’re going away by yourself to write without it really being a paid gig seems selfish. I also fear that once there, I’d do anything but that.
Once in 2015 or so, my business partner and I got out of town for 3 days and went to a friends place at the beach. We hammered out 2 weeks of work in a day, so I know it can be done. Yet I still doubt my ability to do it.
Maybe over Christmas or something I can steal away for a night, back to these little cabins on Lake Ponchartrain and see how it goes. To listen to the waves crash under my head. To consider, to write, to be one of those writers for a day or so.
#hugsabdhi5s
