I've got an office/workspace at the bottom of our small garden. It's a converted shed.

Last summer, twelve months, I cleared it out, and in a couple of weeks had my own private space for work.

It's a Godsend.

Here I can work uninterrupted, blinkered for hours on end. The only sound is the hum of the fan of the external hard drive on my desk and the familiar low pitched buzz in my ears from where it comes I don't know.

This space is absolutely critical for my sanity and ability to do worthwhile work.

Here, my mind sometimes drifts to what I can get out of it. I wonder where it is going. If I'm not careful, I'll figure out a reason to not do it.

That's a trap.

Instead, I decide to trust the process. It's something I need to remind myself of constantly.

We have no choice really, if we are to be happy in our work. Unhappiness is anticipation of future ill events or past experiences we'd rather not have had.

A completely fruitless enterprise if you ask me.

Happiness is too–an analysis of future or past events, that is. Without the analysis, thinking, there's just the work.

There is no point in work unless it absorbs you like an absorbing game

D.H. Lawrence