A Room of One\’s Own


Read about 229 Spring Street

Since Strikethru threw down the gauntlet and asked us to dream up our own writing shacks,I thought I\’d play along. This was easy, because I picked out this Dream Shack a few weeks ago while visiting Eureka Springs, AR and very nearly not returning.

So it\’s not a shack, actually, but it is for sale and it called to me distinctly every time I rode down the mountain to go into  or out of town. This little house tugged at me, I tell you.

I know the conversation about writing shacks began with the whole back-to-basics, typewriter-on-a-table philosophy, and I wholly agree – we need to disconnect and find a room of our own. I get it. I\’m not having some kind of Pinterest-induced Southern Living magazine fantasy.

But LOOK at it. 

Bear with me here. Let\’s say you\’re out in your backyard writing shack, in the gawdalmighty zone and typing like a best-selling fiend on the finest typewriter Remington ever made. You\’re an articulate machine gun, and you\’re thirsty for a tall glass of iced tea which should be within arm\’s reach, but is now empty. Or, you have to powder your nose. It happens.

Just then, your wife/husband/child/grandkid shouts out across the lawn and into your zone. \”Do you need anything from the store?\” they say. Or \”Hey, where are my…?\”

And it\’s gone.

The answer is to leave town, really. Move to, say, Eureka Springs and buy a sweet little house so you can live on two levels that step out upon two different streets. Better yet, win the lottery, buy the Eureka house, and tell absolutely no one what you have done. That way they can\’t follow you.

(Do click on the link and read about the house. There are more pictures, but I knew I\’d lose complete typewriter shack cred if I put them up here.)


16 thoughts on “A Room of One\’s Own

  1. What a nice house! Looks like something out of a story book. Speaking of writing in your own special place. The one I like is a small cabin in the mountains of Montana. There was a small nice cabin on the side of a mountain that was actually used by a writer except no one in town could tell me the writer's identity. I'd need to stay with the shed or shack in the back yard idea.

  2. It does look like a little depot, Richard! And thanks for that link to the Olympia font styles. It me happier than you know!Bill, you have to find out who the writer was. I'd stay with the shed idea except for needing some AC in there. It was 111 degrees today – not conducive to a great writing jag.

  3. Eureka Springs is a really interesting place and that's a fabulous looking house. I love the crazy hillside architecture. I can imagine what it felt like today with its native humidity, though.I live in the Kansas City area. Today it was 106 degrees in my shady backyard and not at all amenable to occupying outbuildings of any description.

  4. Dwayne, it's too hot to write without reliable AC. Hope it cools off for all of us.Strikethru and Mike, it's not a shack or a hut or a cabin, but I bet I could write something stellar in a quaint piece of wedding cake. Yep, I'm sure.

  5. This is exactly why any writing shack/shed/habitat I concoct has to come with some form of refreshing beverage supply. Thermos of iced coffee, stoneware jug of lemonade cooling in a tin tub full of ice… I'm not choosy. I think you'd be forced to adopt Writer's Hours in such a place — write in the cool of the morning, nap through the afternoon heat, and then type with the lightning bugs on the porch swing, waiting for that storm on the horizon to blow in and cool things down.I'm there.

  6. LFP! Darlin, click on the link below the picture and they take you all through that little house. It dives right past adorable and into preciousness.

  7. I just stumbled across this post of yours, Miss Monda. What a nice house. Looks edible, too. Chocolate roof, walls made of madiera and window frames of icing. I bet if you put a teddy bear at a typewriter in that house, it could write the Great American Novel. Wow! Two levels, two different streets. And Richard was right about the train station vibe. If I was sitting at a typewriter and a steam engine went past my front door, it would make perfect sense.

  8. And it's teetering there in the most luscious part of the Ozark Mountains. Right now, the morning mist is probably just beginning to burn off. I could die.

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