Ah workspaces, a sacrosanct, tranquil place you dream of calling your own, where you can write uninterrupted by the demands of everyday life whilst inspired by tumultuous skies or ice cream clouds skittering by as you gaze through your picture window and contemplate… I used to have one of those. After twenty odd years negotiating the bumpy road to publication and finally finding myself with a brilliant publisher that is one hundred per cent behind me, aiming to create brilliant books that sell, I figured I’d earned one. My view was actually somewhat restricted by this little girl…

and there were only garage doors beyond her to gaze at, but the point was it was my space, four legged friends only allowed.

It didn’t quite work out that way. Despite my dropping subtle hints to humans to enter at their own risk.

And then came the pandemic and suddenly everyone was working from home. Oh joy. To be fair, my other half didn’t exactly steal my workspace. But the fact that he was awaiting an operation put together with the guilt-inducing groans of pain as he tried to negotiate the stairs to one of the bedrooms meant that I selflessly offered him my hard-earned work station. It would only be for a short while, I consoled myself, whilst patting myself on the back for my generosity. Fast-forward eighteen months and he’s still there, a fixture at my desk, gazing out at my not so beautiful view.

Me, I am once again a nomad. I work where I can, accompanied by not one, but two, furry friends, who do their absolute best to help with the creative flow.

The desk is actually an antique Georgian bureau in the lounge and I love it. I could do without the collection of pebbles, however, that Brie and Pablo fetch regularly from the garden in order to inspire me.

I’m currently working upstairs. Yes, my furry buddies come with me and try very hard not to disturb me – I lie. They can strip the freshly made bed behind me in three seconds flat. The point is, though, I have more than a lot of people. I do have a place I can work. More importantly, I have my health, so I count my blessings and keep writing. And the man? He’s groaning less frequently. At least for the moment, until I physically eject him from my sacrosanct place.

Happy writing and reading all!

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Bestselling Author, Sheryl Browne, writes taut, twisty psychological thriller. A member of the Crime Writers’ Association, Sheryl has several books published and two short stories in Birmingham City University anthologies where she completed her MA in Creative Writing. Sheryl has also obtained a Certificate of Achievement in Forensic Science and – according to readers – she makes an excellent psychopath. Sheryl’s latest psychological thriller THE LIAR’S CHILD comes to you from BOOKOUTURE. Her previous works include the DI Matthew Adams Crime Thriller series, along with contemporary fiction novels, The Rest of My Life and Learning to Love.

To find out more about Sheryl. go to www.sherylbrowne.com