My desk is in a cabin in the woods. It’s a converted Victorian piano my wife gave me as a birthday present long ago. Through the window I can see deer and squirrels, chipmunks and turkeys, sometimes even the occasional bear. I miss the wonderful clickers-clackety keyboards of bygone years, so I buy contemporary versions that are almost, but not quite, as much fun to type on. I have ink there too, and fountain pens, and love the tactile sensation of writing with a fountain pen in a notebook. Recently I had to put Wi-Fi in the cabin, and so I built a writing gazebo, even farther away from the house, with no Wi-Fi at all and where nothing but work can be done. Our next-door neighbour is a potter, and she has been working for years now to make me a cup that I would drink my tea from. Each version gets larger, and holds more tea. —NEIL GAIMAN