Burning Man

Well, it’s off to the cabin for a long weekend. No internet, cell service, just me and my writing…and the rest of the family, of course.

As I think about the prospect of writing in the woods, I start to realize this could qualify me as a real writer. I wonder if I should pack only black, buy a clip-on necklace for my reading glasses and bring a Hemingway classic. Well, maybe a walk in the woods for inspiration will be enough. In all fairness, the proposal was written months ago, and now it’s just time to wrap in some of the texture that’s surfaced over the last six months before I hit “send” on my computer.

I find some comfort in knowing if I hit a wall, I can use my spare time to stake out the place for our burning man event later this month. Like many of my actions these days, the idea grew out of a verbal stream of consciousness when I had dinner with a girlfriend. In the midst of hearing her familar story and intrepedation of waking up forty in a few weeks, she was lamenting on how to spend the big 40.

Her: A cabin the woods….her sadness over all the missed opportunities…and, the tranquility of the water. ME: Let go of the past…could she symbolically create a clearing….did she want company…yup, burning man. It seemed like the only right option at the time. She's since decided to bag the idea, but only after a few of the group enthusistically signed up. Too late to turn back now.

I suppose I should learn how to build a fire while I’m there, as well. Do real writers do that, too?