Truth is Stranger than Fictional Characters.
I typically spend most of my nights writing in Eastwood Mall, a good five minute walk from where I live; sacrificing sleep for a few hours of self-delusion over what comprises ‘talent’. I write mostly at Gloria Jean’s Coffee, which one of my good friends also happen to own (small plug: 2nd floor veranda, Eastwood Mall, Eastwood City, Libis, Quezon City. Free chocolate Krispies with cold drinks) and stay until closing hours. I spend most of my free time there because I never could seem to find enough concentration to maintain the solid 500-1000 words an hour pace I enforce on myself at home, but also because there are far too many odd / interesting people stumbling into the coffee shop that a parody of them sometimes find their way into the novel I’ve been working on for the last month. Three of the more specific examples:
