I have the saddle of my bike as my desktop image because I like my bike. And because it's semi-abstract, as an image. And because it reminds me that there's always something better I could be doing than being on the computer. I don't find being stuck at the desk frustrating. Not so long as I'm actually writing (or reading, or planning, or thinking, or cross-hatching extensive doodles). I do find it frustrating being stuck with all the other bits of the job which aren't actually writing-writing. Which is daft; it's a nice problem to have, and if I was just that little bit more organised and efficient it would only be half the problem it is. But still.

My desktop is not particularly tidy - those are just documents that haven't been put somewhere more sensible yet, or still need something doing with them. Which is exactly what my actual desk looks like: I'm a big believer in the notion that you can always find something in a stack of paper on your desk simply because your brain will remember where it went. I love a clear desk and an alphabetical filing system as much as the next person, but that you can waste a lot of time doing the clearing.

When discussing his own desktop, Tom McCarthy said that "technology colours not only the rhythm but the whole logic of what you write", but I think it's more complicated than that. There are so many things combining to influence the rhythm and logic of what you write that it seems problematic to single out technology as the over-riding one. Your physical state is one influence – especially whether you've been drinking tea or coffee, or using other stimulants/alterants – as is your sense of temporal space (meaning, essentially, is there a looming deadline?). Having said that, writing on a laptop connected to the internet does seem to be the equivalent of writing with the television on in the background, or in a noisy pub. I like a bit of peace and quiet. For this reason, I've sometimes used a typewriter – and my first two novels were mainly written long-hand. I did kid myself, for a while, that a typewriter was a purer method: you have to think, and then type, and then move on. And perhaps there's something in that. At the very least, it forces you to redraft by hand, in a much more considered way, rather than simply skimming the surface and deleting the odd word here and there. But to be honest I don't think I've ever written more than a chapter or two on the typewriter before reverting to the laptop. You don't ask a plumber what sort of spanner he or she is using; you just want to know that the pipes won't leak when they're done. If a writer is paying close attention to what he or she is writing – redrafting and considering and honing until by the time I read it I know for sure there are no better words they could have chosen for that particular sentence – then I don't care.

It's impossible to generalise on the process. Sometimes a great piece of writing can be produced by hammering away at a laptop while listening to music, keeping half an eye on your email, and eating a pie. Sometimes it can take weeks of worrying away at a paragraph, in long-hand, in silence, in a whitewashed retreat in the hills. It's possible – likely – that the two pieces of prose will have a different style. But one may not be better than the other; one process is not necessarily more productive, or more effective, than the other. Having said that, I think that the best writing is that which has been thought about and reconsidered. If someone tells me that they've "nearly finished" their novel, citing the fact that they've written 50,000 words as evidence, I do tend to question their definition of "finished". To me, they've barely started. The work of writing is in the revision and the refining. I find that this is more successfully done when working with hard copy. I also find that by artificially creating more "process" (retyping the whole draft from scratch, rather than simply dipping in and making selected corrections), I can force myself to consider the text more deeply. (If I can't be bothered to type it, I probably shouldn't expect anyone to bother reading it.) I mean, turn off the wi-fi. But apart from that, it's all just different coloured pens.

The computer is a MacBook running Leopard. I do like the way Mac stuff works, but I don't like the way every time I turn my back they've updated something or other and a perfectly good computer starts getting left behind. Isn't that the sort of thing the Mac geeks always used to berate Microsoft for doing?

I use Dropbox for all my documents and it's ace – I can access them from any computer, and from my phone, and they stay in sync with each other. It's basically the backup system I never consistently had when I was juggling various memory sticks and CDs and emails to self. A lovely and simple piece of technology. My Dropbox isn't all that organised, it's just that I'm getting into the habit of keeping all my documents in there. Evernote I downloaded because I thought it would make my research and task lists organised and effective and simple. I've never used it. I can't make head nor tail.

I have an Android smartphone. I think Google, for all their worryingly dominant position in the market, make brilliant, simple and open products. I use it about 80% for email and Twitter, 5% for navigation, and 5% for vaguely writing-related things. I don't use it to write notes, although I will email myself links to particular sites/articles of interest, and take photos. (Which is what I should be using Evernote for, right? I should probably read the manual or something.) I have got a voice memo application on there, but as hard as I try to act like Agent Cooper when I use it I always feel like an absolute tool. I did once try to write a whole article on the phone, when I was on the train, but my fingers weren't up to it.

I'll Buy You A Shovel is a story from my new book, This Isn't the Sort of Thing That Happens to Someone Like You, and this particular document was a discussion I was having with the editor of Zoetrope: All Story, a US magazine which published it last year. We were using the "track changes" and "add comments" features on Word, which would have been brilliantly useful if I hadn't screwed it up and made all his comments look like they were under my name. It's still on the desktop because I'm planning to write a post about the different US approach to editing on my reading/writing blog, On Learning to Read, mainly inspired by this line in the editorial notes: "I suggest pull this line up to terminate prior graph, to manifest its same function in damming his screed." But I haven't got round to it yet.

Always back up your photos. Always. I'm still aching at the thought of the photos we lost when our last laptop was stolen: you only get one chance to photograph your child's first two years of life, don't you? Always back up your photos. Always back up your photos. Have I emphasised that enough yet? The "photo archive" is all family stuff, for burning to CD.

The "fields" folder is a series of images from The Color Of, where you type in search term and it overlays a hundred or so images from Flickr tagged with that term. Mostly you end up with a muddy grey-green colour. But I did searches for "sunflower field", "poppy field", "flax field" etc, and "field for the British Isles" (brown), and saved them in this folder. I had them as a revolving desktop for a while. The "SORT OF AV" file is the audiovisual presentation for the readings I'll be doing from This Isn't The Sort Of Thing That Happens To Someone Like You. I'm using "SORT OF" in the filenames of all the documents relating to publication, to make them easily searchable. Photos, maps, videos. Pictures of sugar-beet. That kind of thing. I read an interesting piece putting forward the idea that using folders on a computer is redundant when search facilities are now so efficient.

I aspire to a love of simplicity, but more for the outcome than for its own sake, or for the aesthetic. A simple system is a robust and reliable system, and since I know that at root I'm a chaotic and disorganised person when I'm doing anything besides writing, the more reliable systems I can have in my life the better. An obvious example would be bill-paying, where the model used to be: get bill, forget bill, get 2nd bill, look for chequebook, lose chequebook, find chequebook, write cheque, tear-off slip, find envelope, write address, find stamp, put envelope in bag, forget to post, get final bill, send off payment. The new model is: set up direct debit, check occasionally that you're not getting fleeced. Simple and effective. I aspire to this simple/minimal/robust/orderly life and home and workspace; but you should see the state of the place. Life just happens, doesn't it?