I write most days, from early in the morning, for at least an hour or two.  The tricky part is getting myself upstairs into my office and sitting down with a pen in my hand. Once I've closed the door on the rest of the house and family, I can settle down to my story.

Sometimes I write longhand, using pen or pencil in a wide-lined notebook. I sit in an old rocking chair, and, before I begin, I wrap myself in shawls and scarves against the cold. In the Midlands, folk like me who feel the cold are called 'nesh'. That's me.  I'm very 'nesh'. I prefer the chill to write in rather than a warm fug.

Sometimes I use my computer to word process my chapters.  That's fast and exciting - instant edits - but you have to keep taking a break from the screen.

Then I leave the office to feed the cats or the birds, or walk in the garden, or, in winter, put coal on the fire downstairs. 

I don't always write in my writing time. Sometimes I sit and think. My best ideas come when I'm daydreaming.  If I can’t think what to write next, I've learned not to panic. I break the block by moving about a bit. I usually make a cup of tea. The ideas come more quickly if I don't chase them. They drift up to the front of my mind, then there's a mad scramble to put them on paper before they disappear. My desk is littered with odd scraps of paper and post-it notes, all of which are 'important', or so they tell me.  Some I use and some I discard. I go down lots of 'blind alleys' when I'm writing my first draft.