After spending four days in New York City, attending the Book Expo—the biggest book convention in North America—I flew to Rochester, N.Y., my hometown, to spend a couple weeks with my family. After my plane landed, it didn’t take long for me to recall why I moved to San Diego in 1993. Can I be blunt? The weather in Rochester absolutely sucks!
If you can deal with torrential rain, cloudy skies, unbearable humidity, severe winters, and real estate taxes almost the highest in the country relative to assessed value, it’s a great place to call home. I love being with my family, but I must admit that my visits are bittersweet.
When I retired from my “day job” to write fulltime, my wife and I reluctantly decided to move back east. I even spent two weeks looking at homes—37 to be exact. But the right one just didn’t come along. In retrospect, I wonder what might have happened if I had found the right place. I’ve come to the conclusion that I would never survive Rochester winters. After living in San Diego for 18 years, I now have California blood.
The latest plan—and this can only happen if my second novel, Resuscitation, is overwhelmingly successful—would be to spend spring, summer, and fall in Rochester. And then when the doldrums of winter fall upon Rochester and the snow flies, my wife and I could escape to a warmer climate for a few months. Please keep your fingers crossed for us. Better yet, you could help the cause by buying my second novel when it’s released on October 11th. Yes, I know it’s a shameless plea, but hey, it never hurts to ask.