Robert Rotenberg is a criminal lawyer, former magazine publisher, and the author the bestselling novel Old City Hall, which was published in 2009. Rotenberg, whose new novel is called The Guilty Plea, will be guest editing The Afterword this week.

I still remember the first time I started writing in a coffee shop. Must have been about fifteen years ago. I’m a criminal lawyer and at that time our firm’s offices were at the Eaton Centre. Back then the Second Cup had one of the first shops right in the middle of the mall, on the glass-covered top floor. It was a cold winter afternoon and I’d got back from court early. I went down, ordered some tea (back then I was not yet hooked on lattes), pulled out my reconditioned second-hand laptop and started to peck away.

Instead of the low-hum quiet of my upstairs office, there I sat lost in thought and words amidst the hissing espresso machine, clattering dishes and surround-sound conversations. People looked at me a bit askance, as in ‘what’s he doing over there?’ Price of being a pioneer I thought. But I didn’t care. There was the light. All that brightness on a dark winter day. Even better, an electrical outlet. Perfect.

I’ll often spend days alone at our little cottage writing with no one to talk to except our even smaller dog. Or lock myself in my office, luxuriating in the silence. But at other times, for reasons I still can’t really fathom, I need controlled chaos around me.Looking back, I see my kid’s programs defined my early days of exploration for public places to write. Weekends spent hauling them around were an opportunity to find new spots. One of my son’s used to take an acting class out near Coxwell and Danforth, and for a few years I’d park myself in the west-facing window of Sarah’s Café, where the smell of onions sizzling in olive oil permeated the warm, clustered atmosphere.

When his classes moved to Yonge Street near Rosedale station, I settled on the Starbucks on the west side. Big windows, lots of plugs, tons of noise. (Though sometimes rather odd conversation, and even worse, once in a while an old friend would spot me and want to talk.) Then there was the Dundas Street West phase and I discovered the assorted pleasures of Little Portugal.

In the last decade and a half the coffee shop scene has exploded. As my options have expanded, I still look for the same key elements. The Dark Horse Café on Queen Street East, just west of Broadview, has a huge square table where there’s always room to spread out, discarded newspapers in the middle to try to avoid reading, and high southwest facing windows. (And so much competition – all those other people also writing books on their Macs). Jet Fuel Café on Parliament might not have as much light, but it makes up for that with its great stripped-down atmosphere, blasting music and huge rotating artwork displays.

(Shameless plug and self-promotion alert…take a look at one the later chapters of my new book The Guilty Plea for an even better description.)

Best of all for me though, is The George Street Diner, near where I now work. Long south facing windows, tremendous, real food, charming owner named Ash, with her even more charming Irish accent. But the highlight are the booths, where after the lunchtime rush I can spread out and type away. And no one will look at me askance.