I have the kind of joy that can only come from a writing deadline and a great spot in my home at which to meet it. I never would have thought a desk could make such a difference in how I feel about working at home, but it is a transformative thing.

And to think, I manifested this desk. Yes, you read that right. I willed this piece of furniture into my apartment.

Back in February or so, I decided that the sweet wicker desk I bought some 20 years ago was ready to be retired. Not only had it seen better days, it was small and not so easy to work on. So I carefully measured the spot — height, width, length — and started carrying the measurements around in my Filofax.

I went to Staples, Target, The Container Store and any number of other stores in Manhattan to see what was out there and what fit in my budget. Several months into the process, I found out we were getting new desks at my “day” job. I asked what would be done with the “old” desks and, long story short, my boss gave me one.

Now let me tell you, this is a real desk. It is a large, tinted piece of glass sitting atop a black architectural stand of sorts. I don’t think I can do it justice here, but it’s fabulous and practical.

As a former sports writer who got used to writing in little gymnasiums and raucous arenas, I know I can write anywhere. It’s in my blood. But this desk, which faces a window that looks at a church with lovely stained glass windows, beckons me to it. My book wants to be written here.

I manifested a desk and I’m darned proud of it.