This is a hard one to write, and I'll keep it brief, but I wanted to post a few words about the one person on earth that I was closest to, and that was my dad, who passed away last month at the age of 85.
Richard Rosenberg was kind, whip-smart, funny, and always there when I needed him, no matter what. He was also my most enthusiastic reader. Months ahead of each release, he would start asking, "When is it going to be done?" When I did finally have a draft, he was always the first reader, and I relied on his thoughtful comments as I went through my revisions.
As some of my readers here know, I'm close to releasing my latest Nathan Grant thriller, and I was really hoping I could get it done in time for my dad to read it. I thought I was going to make it, but then his situation with pancreatic cancer deteriorated quickly. I had a draft done, but he wasn't in any state to read it. Instead, I sat by his hospital bed and told him the story, start to finish.
As it is, this is a devastating loss for me, and I'm still trying to process it and focus as much as I can on all of the great times we shared. This book, though, is the first one I've ever written that my dad didn't get to read. I don't know if there is a heaven, or an afterlife, but I'd like to think so, and that he is there, watching over me. From the very beginning of my writing career, one of my goals was always to make my father proud. I know that he was, and I was certainly always proud to be his son. He is and will be deeply missed.
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