Artistic Solitude...or, Go Away, I'm Writing.

Oh, happy day! I’ve finished my next supernatural horror novel, STRUCK. One more go-through, and it’s ready to send off the publisher. 
I’ve been writing in fits and starts and grabbing writing time when I can. I love my family and wouldn’t trade them for the world, but, oh my gosh, we’ve been on a busy schedule this past year. It’s a schedule I sometimes find extremely frustrating as an author. Especially now that I require a HUGE block of time to read my manuscript from beginning to end—the only way to assure myself of a smooth, cohesive, storyline. I’ve hinted to my husband, who puts up with much, that it might be nice if I was able to book a hotel room for one night. It would allow me this final time I need, and with absolutely no distractions. No dogs to play door-slave to, no cats asking to be fed/pet/cleaned up after, no dishes that need doing, no floors rolling with fur balls, no kiddos to be picked up from school and driven here to there, no math homework to help with (ugh), and no breakfast, lunch and dinners to make. I love these things in my life, but when it comes to writing?
Absolute solitude with no distractions would be ideal.
His answer to my hotel request was, as expected, a reminder that hotels can be expensive, save for the sleezy ones, and an offer to look after the kiddos while I went upstairs to sequester myself in our bedroom. Sigh. I love him for that, but… Another writer may understand why this doesn’t work. In the midst of wrestling with my protagonist’s decent into madness, my antagonist’s evil complexities, or my layers of Otherworld, there will be a point where my family will pop in to say hello, need to use our bathroom for some bizarre reason (we have three), ask me if I want food (go away, not now), or during my coffee run (more crucial than food, folks), ask me that dreaded question, “How’s the writing going?” 
Forgive me if I snarl and bite, or perhaps stare at you like you’ve spoken some foreign language that I can’t possibly understand, but, “Go away, I’m writing.”  I would be civil and answer you but I’ve pushed all my words and emotions through my fingertips and have none left to push through my lips.
So, I’m left with the possibility of grabbing an all-nighter while my husband is on a business trip, begging one of my pet-sitting clients to do a trade; free pet-sitting if I can spend the night at their house (which may or may not work), or shelling out $40 for a night of solitude at some sleezy motel. 
I’m thinking the sleezy motel may work just fine.