It's a myth that you only write when you're sitting in front of a computer. In my head I write in all sorts of places, scribbling down notes shortly after when I can.

But some situations are more special and productive than others. Here are my two secret thinking devices...

1. A small and characterful wire fox terrier called Eddie.

<a href="http://davidhewson.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/eddie.jpg"><img class="aligncenter size-large wp-image-8091" title="eddie" src="http://davidhewson.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/eddie-640x480.jpg" alt="" width="635" height="476" /></a>

Hard as I find it to believe, Eddie just turned eleven. He's listened to me chuntering on for ten or so books since he turned up. He's part of my career, a big and important part (and gets a bit of a nod for that in next year's book). My usual routine is to write from eight or so till 10.30, reading the previous day's work and kicking off the first part of the next scene. Then I take him up the road for a walk and think about what comes next. It's not the same without him if he can't make it for some reason. No, I don't know why and if he does he's not telling.

2. A mowing machine.

<a href="http://davidhewson.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/deere.jpg"><img class="aligncenter size-large wp-image-8093" title="deere" src="http://davidhewson.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/deere-640x480.jpg" alt="" width="635" height="476" /></a>

I've always thought about books while doing the grass for some reason. These days we have a lot of lawn which demands one of these (in this case my new John Deere X540, which replaces a trusty JD model that did seven years' sterling service -- best garden machinery in the world in my book).

Seated on this thing whizzing over the turf I will often muse on the WIP, wondering about what's gone before, testing ideas over what comes next. Then when the job's done go straight back to the computer and get down some notes.

Why do distractions like dogs and mowing machines work? I'm no psychologist but I suspect it's partly because they <em>are </em>distractions. All too often we spend our heads banging against the emptiness of a blank page, praying for something to fill it. Only when we walk away from that frustrating abyss does another part of the imagination begin to kick in and try to fill the space from somewhere else in our subconscious.

Those are my little secrets anyway. If any of you wish to get yours off your chest feel free to do so in the comments below.