Yes, well, he knows how dedicated I am to my garden and he likes me to be happy.
Also, I’m a nag.

The truth is, we’ve been discussing a greenhouse for years. Our main goal in having a garden is to grow a tomato. Nothing tastes like a fresh tomato, ripened on the plant and warmed from the sun. Here in far NW Washington, our summers are damp and cool, the antithesis of tomato-growing weather, and all too frequently my tomato plants have been consumed by blight, stunted by cold and if the plants are lucky enough to do well…sometimes the tomatoes just don’t have time to ripen. The longer we’ve lived here, the better we’ve gotten at growing tomatoes, but some summers there is no overcoming all the obstacles.

Thus the greenhouse discussion. We got serious when a neighbor bought a small 6×8 pre-fab greenhouse and raved about the results. We still hesitated; the price was $430.00 and when we added in all the additional costs, I figured we would be growing a $500.00 tomato.

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It turns out I was optimistic. We bought the greenhouse, $430.00, brought it home, and decided to place it outside our garden in the sunniest spot on our property. Then The Husband rolled up his sleeves and went to work on the foundation for the greenhouse. At this point, please remember what you know about The Husband’s mode of construction; his work will outlast the pyramids.

Examples:
The Giant Treehouse

The Stone Circle

Last Summer’s Walkway

(BTW, he would like to point out that when the tree fell on our house, it did not cut through the roof into the kitchen because he had designed in seismic control and the tree landed on one of the steel supports on the back porch. So.)

The greenhouse foundation involved 4×6 boards, concrete, sand and gravel, more gravel for the surround, in fact, all the gravel from the massive mound of gravel The Husband keeps for occasions just like this, and hours of unpaid labor (his.) (Yes, I did help, mostly by staying out of the way, but I am useful when The Husband needs more than two hands.) (No three-armed coverjokes, please.) Then there was the bench he built to facilitate my potting, the stones for the walkway… He figures we spent an extra $300 installing the greenhouse.

Inside are not merely tomato plants, but also pepper plants and cucumber plants (lemon cucumbers are a family favorite), and flower starts. Every time I step inside I smell green growing things, which contents my soul. The Husband lingers inside, too, so I suspect he loves the heat and the scents.

But when all is said and done, it’s still a $730.00 tomato.

Want to find out if we get more than one tomato? Perhaps a few peppers, cucumbers, some basil? What do I do with all the produce? Join my newsletter for recipes and updates. Do join; I’d love to welcome you.

Veggies for Ratatouille

Updated Printable book list sorted by genre/series/in order.

Books by Series list with clickable covers.

With that came a note from our reader’s husband who said, “Keep up the good work!” He also sent a sizable check for books.

That, my friends, is why you shop at independent bookstores. You walk in, you tell the owner/clerk/former librarian what kind of books you like to read, and they walk you through a dozen books that fits your profile. When you go back and tell them which books you liked best, it narrows down your likes and dislikes, and eventually they’re able to hand you books you know you’ll like. They’ll let you know about new authors, recommend books that aren’t necessarily in your preferred genres, tell you about the OMG! hot books, or the Ahhhh! sweet books, or the most exciting adventures, or the mystery/suspense with the best twist or the scariest villain, or the YA with the heroine who grows from TSTL (too stupid to live) to a woman to be feared.

What about the price? Oh, honey. You can pay so much less on Amazon or any of the online bookstores. I understand poverty; my dad died before I was born, my mom was a housewife, and until she got a job as a proofreader (I was a teen,) we had tough, tough times. I still shop sales of all kinds. But one of my go-to quotes is, “You can exchange time for money and money for time, but remember it’s possible to make more money… it’s not possible to make more time.”

I don’t have time to read a book and discover it has a wrong ending. I don’t have time to read a book and be so bored with the nice hunky hero I snore my way through. My to-do list is far too long, and my reading wants are basic. Give me dragons, adventure, suspense, great sex, humor. You can try to literary book-shame me; I don’t care. I go to my favorite independent bookstores, they pick out my books, and I am a happy reader.

Plus, do you want a chance to talk to your favorite author? Get her autograph? Ask her the tough questions? Go to an autographing, either online or in person. Please. Really. It’s the most fun I have while vertical. 😉

Shout out to some of the fabulous bookstores I’ve known and dealt with:

Third Place Books, Seattle (specifically Lake Forest Park which is so awesome!)
Murder by the Book, Houston with such great booksellers!
Village Books, Bellingham WA
Grand Gesture Books, Portland OR
Powell’s, Portland OR (several locations, all iconic and wonderful)
Anderson Books, Naperville IL where Susan Elizabeth Phillips is reigning queen of sports romance
Poisoned Pen, Scottsdale AZ where Jayne Ann Krentz and I will sign our new releases (Jayne’s ENTER THE NIGHTMARE, my TEACH THE TORCHES TO BURN) on June 27… We’ll be interviewed by the fabulous reviewer and bookseller John Charles and I’m sure no one will say anything, ya know, controversial.

Actually, pretty sure I’ll be autographing at most of these bookstores in late June / early July, as well as locations in Utah and hopefully California. It’s a long state. Pretty sure I can get in there somewhere.

Want to get there while I autograph? Please join my newsletter. As I know more, I’ll confess all.

And patronize your local independent. Despite all the big online bookstores, they continue to thrive for exactly the reasons I cited. They listen. They know the market. They remember your preferences. And nothing beats the joy of browsing in an honest-to-God, shelf-packed bookstore.

Warmly,

Christina Dodd
New York Times bestselling author

Out now: MUCH ADO ABOUT MISTLETOE, a Montague family Christmas novella
THUS WITH A KISS I DIE *or* The Daughter of Romeo and Juliet.
WELCOME TO GOTHIC — finally in eBook!
WHAT DREAMS MAY COME — a novella of adventure and intrigue.
GIRL ANONYMOUS “Crackling sexual chemistry.” — ⭐️ Booklist

Printable/downloadable booklist sorted by genre, series and in order.

Books by Series with covers and links.

Think before you speak. Read before you think. — Fran Lebowitz

His most famous, well-known play is Romeo and Juliet, which to date has irked millions of romantics who…wait for it…don’t like their lovers to tragically die.

Thankfully, in the Daughter of Montague series, I’ve rectified his error. To celebrate , hear Suzy Jackson, the talented voice actress, read the tale of Romeo and Juliet’s daughter who, with sharp humor, explains how her parents survived the tomb, and now live together, rapturously in love while not understanding at all how their eldest continues to evade matrimony. Click here to purchase the audiobook of A DAUGHTER OF FAIR VERONA, on sale for $8.00. Trust me on this. I didn’t do the math.

For fun, let’s read the first chapter. As my daughter once said to me, “Are you laughing at your own book?” Me: “It’s funny!”

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene

My name is Rosie, Rosaline if I’m in trouble, and I’m the daughter of Romeo and Juliet.

Yes, that Romeo and Juliet.

No, they didn’t die in the tomb. Brace yourself for a recap, and don’t worry, it’s interesting in a My God, are you kidding me? sort of way.

My mom was a Capulet. My dad is a Montague. For some reason lost in the mists of time, their families were deadly enemies. Yet my folks met at a party, instantly fell in love—nothing bad ever came of love at first sight, right?—and secretly got married. That very afternoon, Dad killed Mom’s cousin in a sword fight, then Mom hated Dad for about five really loud, lamenting moments, then she equally loudly forgave him. They fell into bed and as I heard it, spent the night doing the horizontal bassa danza. Papà went into exile because of the killing (in the next town a few hours’ gallop away), and Mamma went into a decline. To cheer her up, my grandparents decided she needed to get married. Because in my world, all a woman needs is a husband to be happy.

Has anybody in Verona ever once looked around at the state of the marriages in this town?

With typical Juliet melodrama, Mom decided she had to kill herself. The family confessor convinced her to take a drug that put her into a sleep that presented itself as death.

I know, you’re thinking—C’mon! There’s no such drug!

I promise there is. I work with Friar Laurence, the Franciscan monk and apothecary who mixed it for her. More about that later.

Mom took the sleeping draught, fell into a death-like state, had a terrific funeral with all the weeping and wailing her family is capable of—and let me tell you, that’s some impressive weeping and wailing—and was placed in the Capulet family tomb.

She was thirteen years old and to all accounts a great-looking corpse.

While in exile, Dad got the news his new wife had suddenly and inexplicably taken the long dirt nap. Being of equally dramatic stock, he obtained real poison, raced back to fair Verona, broke into the tomb, killed Mom’s fiancé—my father’s an impressive swordsman, which is a good thing considering how many people he can insult in a day—flung himself on Mom’s body, and took the real poison because his life wasn’t worth living without her.

He was all of sixteen years old and in my observations, sixteen-year-old boys are idiots or worse. But again, what do I know?

So Dad is draped all over Mom’s supposed corpse, to all appearances dead, and she wakes up and sees him. Can you imagine the theatrical potential here?

I can’t. Unless there’s someone watching, there’s no point in getting all worked up.

But I stray from the story, which I’ve heard countless times in my life in breathless breakfast table recountings.

Mom grabbed Dad’s knife out of the sheath and stabbed herself. There was a lot of blood, and she fainted, but essentially she stabbed that gold pendant necklace her family buried her with, the knife skidded sideways, and she slashed her own chest. She still has the scar, which, when I’m rolling my eyes, she insists on showing me.

What with all that blood, she fainted. When she came to, still very much alive, she crawled back up on the tomb, sobbed again all over Dad’s body, and got wound up for a second self-stabbing. It was at this point Dad sat up, leaned over, and vomited all over the floor.

It’s a well-known fact you can never trust an unfamiliar apothecary to deliver a reliable dose of poison.

Mom simultaneously realized two things: Dad was alive, and he was tossing his lasagna all over the place. In a frenzy of joy and fellowship, she brought up whatever meager foods were in her stomach.

An argument could be made that she was retching because vomiting is contagious . . . or it could be said I was announcing myself to the world. Because nine months later, I made my appearance into the Montague household.

Did you follow all that? I know, I know. But honest to God, strip away the melodrama and that’s what happened.

You might think—why is a girl of Rosie’s youth so sarcastic about love and passion?

Let me tell you a couple of things.

1. When you have true love and wild passion and brokenhearted tragedy stuffed up your nose every day of your life, by your mother’s family, your father’s grandmother, your parents who constantly fight and reconcile and proclaim and monologue and fall into bed and have sex so loudly they keep the whole compound awake . . . love and passion lose a little bit of their gilding. In fact, the whole topic is positively off-putting. Also, I have six younger siblings, and someone with a little sense needs to care for them, and who else in this madly romantic family is there but me?

2. Actually, I’m not young. My parents have been trying to marry me off to some nobleman or another since I was thirteen years old. As a proper daughter must do, I curtsy and thank them, then I go to work finding these gentlemen wives who they immediately fall in love with and adore forever. I pride myself on my ability to match the aristocrats of Verona with their soul mates, while saving myself from the travesty of love and passion and all that creaking of the mattress ropes and moaning and scratching and . . . You know. Consequently, I’m old, almost twenty years, a renowned for the bad luck of being repeatedly jilted, condemned to living in my parents’ house until my younger brother grows up, marries, and replaces my father as the head of the household.

He’s six. I’ve assembled all the abilities to remain single, and I’ve got all the time in the world . . .

Until the day I was summoned to my parents’ suite and heard my mother’s fateful words, “Daughter, your father and I have excellent news for you.”…

A DAUGHTER OF FAIR VERONA is also out in hardcover, ebook, and trade paperback. Yay for Shakespeare today and every day, and as he would say, “Get thee to a bookstore and order the audiobook here!”

There comes that moment on vacation when you’re able to say with profound inner knowledge…ahhhhhhh. Daughter Arwen and I boarded the Lindblad/National Geographic ship Endurance for an expedition to Portugal (Lisbon and Porto,) France (Douarnenez in Brittany,) the UK (Cornwall and Wales,) and Ireland (Dublin.)

The “ahhhhhhh” moment came on Tristan Island outside of Douarnenez when our guide took us into a walled garden that contained an orchard and tall grasses rippling in the breeze, and as we stood there — cue the sheep! — four brown sheep wandered down a path to visit. They chewed on one guy’s shoes and nibbled on Arwen’s jacket, and were generally happy to see us and be petted. It was definition of bucolic, and so peaceful and relaxing.

After we finished the tour of the island, we went into Douarnenez. I swear, it was as if Disney had created a picturesque French village just for us. I want to go back there and spend time roaming the streets, staying in a quaint hotel, and visiting the sites, which is no doubt part of their clever scheme. Well played!

Next we sailed to Penzance in Cornwall. Yes, that Penzance. I saw no pirates, but hiking along the coast was rugged with a new breathtaking scene around every corner, and this happened:

WTH?

That said, I had a Cornish pasty for lunch and immediately recovered.

That’s when things got, um, not surprising. A violent storm developed in the Irish Sea. Because we were stopping in ports that required landing in zodiacs, a “a smallish rubber boat that can act as a tender to deliver people safely to rugged shorelines …The key qualities of a Zodiac are its rigid hull and inflatable pontoons, which double as seating… Because they are nigh-impossible to sink, maneuverable, and adept at nosing up to treacherous terrain, these boats have developed avid followings within military, commercial, and recreational boating spheres.”

Let us pause for a moment to remind you I’m 5’2” and 194 years old, give you a moment to picture me getting in and out of these “impossible to sink” vessels, and

I CAN HEAR YOU LAUGHING!

Knock it off.

Anyway, in the evening debriefing, our person said, “In a zodiac, we can get you to the Welsh shore, but we can’t promise a dry landing, and we can get you away from the Welsh shore, but we can’t promise when.” Wales, with its castles, its scenic outlooks and its long history, was beyond on our reach. Arwen and I were heartbroken, but we both know enough about the British Isles to not be surprised by a storm in the Irish Sea in the spring, and we were cheered by the fact we were headed for Belfast where, honest to God, the crew had put together five Belfast expeditions for us to choose from. Arwen and I went to Hillsborough Castle and Gardens, which is the home of the royal family when they visit Belfast. A stately home and we were enraptured by the gardens.

Yes, we’re both gardeners, so much so we strolled the walks despite the fact it was windy and cold. Ah, well. The daffodils didn’t care and neither did we.

That evening, our last night on the ship, our naturalist gave a speech on seals and selkies, which tossed me right back to A WELL FAVORED GENTLEMAN, one of my early historical romances which sparks outrage among the politically correct. Heh.

Selkie of legend (My selkie is a guy.)

We ended in Dublin where we stayed for a couple of extra days to visit the sights (Dublin Castle and the gardens!) and, as it turned out, eat fabulous food. Dublin is a small city packed with unbelievable restaurants. We had Chinese, Middle Eastern, fine dining and of course pub food (at the Hairy Lemon, and I have got to figure out how to make that Irish stew.)

Mezze plate at Falafel in Dublin
Have you ever seen me look so happy?

On the voyage, when we weren’t hiking or eating or watching for sea life, we ran around the ship and snapped photos of the Daughter of Montague books. Don’t worry, it’s not like I’d insert a photo in the middle of…

…a paragraph or anything. 😉 Yes, I left autographed hardback copies of A DAUGHTER OF FAIR VERONA and THUS WITH A KISS I DIE in the Endurance library. In case you travel on the Endurance anytime soon.

Thus ends my vacation slide show (unless you beg me for more, but pretty sure that’s not going to happen) but remember this quote:

“Well, you’ll be glad to know that scientists have finally explained why we’ve been enduring this rather long spell of disappointing weather. Apparently…we live in Britain.” — Hugh Dennis

Because of that storm, I guess I have to return to go to Wales.

Well, darn.

A couple of book sales:

THUS WITH A KISS I DIE is on sale on Kindle for $3.99 in the month of April.

A DAUGHTER OF FAIR VERONA in audiobook is 60% off here.

Until next time, happy reading and the best of spring!

Not really. I made it up, but now it will sweep the world because butter.

Instructions

It’s very important to follow these steps exactly.

1. Go to your local foodie grocery store. Block the butter cooler while you examine the sixty-seven different kinds of foodie butter they have (Irish, Vermont, European-style, goat, grass-fed butter.) How to choose? Easy! I got four on sale. Except the goat which was normally priced. I was curious.

2. Get good bread. The kind you like best.

3. Using four different bowls for the four butters, place chunks of butter in each.

4. This is important! Make a key. At least I did. Do you know why I call the guy I live with The Husband? Because after 172 years of marriage I can’t remember his name! … Kidding. He’s…um, his name is…it’s on the tip of my tongue… Never mind that. Make a key because all butters look the same (except goat. It looks like lard.)

Goat, Plugra, Frentel, Graziers

5. Allow the butters to warm to room temperature. It’s like cheese; it’s good when it’s cold, but you can’t fully appreciate the flavors until it’s spreadable.

6. Invite your foodie friends over to taste. In my case, it was one foodie, pal and author Connie Brockway. We lovingly spread the thick, rich butter across slices of sour dough bread, tasted them, declared (by color) which butter we preferred, looked it up on the key, tasted each other’s favorite, then tasted them all again…

That’s it! Easy and marvelous! Connie ranked Graziers as the highest. I ranked Plugra the highest. We both loved the goat butter. Very rich and creamy. We agreed all the butters were winners, and every day I do another test just to make sure.

Yes. I’m flinging myself on the pointed stakes of food science for you.

You’re welcome.

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Recommended for everyone who likes food and/or Romeo and Juliet: Montague vs. Capulet: The Battle for Charcuterie Supremacy

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We were both published writers, and in return she taught me stuff like, “Buy a calendar and mark how many pages a day you write,” and (bluntly) “Write faster.” I discovered Susan can write like the wind, doing her set number of pages a day, and for me, it was like being caught in the wake of a jet engine. She taught me how to be more prolific (it can be learned, and mostly involved discipline which I abhor) and soon I was writing like, not the wind, but a stiff breeze.

In return for that favor, like the kid in class who interrupts their friend’s work, out of the clear blue sky I’d call her and say, “Let’s go to lunch at Pappasitos.” Heh. We went so often we’d exchange fajitas (Pappasito’s Grill: shrimp, chicken, beef) without even discussing it. That may be the ultimate mark of friendship.

It was either that, or the fact that Susan volunteered to take care of our then-teenage daughters while The Husband and I flew to Seattle so he could provided a bone marrow transplant for his brother (who after twenty-seven years is still fine, thank you for asking.) To truly understand the sacrifice, you must know Susan had no children and didn’t completely understand what she was getting into: stuff like feeding them breakfast, taking them to school, picking them up from school, feeding them dinner, dealing with band practice, etc, etc. It was a forfeit of her time and energy I will never forget and can never repay…and her horror and astonishment at how much time is consumed by on-their-best-behavior teens under her care can still bring me to tears of laughter. 😂 I should write a book about that. 🤣

Where was I?

Oh. Susan’s new book, THE BOOKSTORE DIARIES. I make it a point to be happy for Susan when she sells a jillion books and devises brilliant plots, and God knows, my Daughter of Montague covers elicit compliments from every person who sees them, and whenever I say, “The Daughter of Romeo and Juliet,” the reactions are gratifying, but…C’MON! Look at Susan’s enhanced hardcover!

THE BOOKSTORE DIARIES is gorgeous! The special-edition stand-alone women’s fiction hardcover includes beautifully designed endpapers and gorgeous sprayed edges. Despite my envy (yes, yes, I know, grow up, Christina) I’d buy it without even reading the blurb.

But not to worry. This book has every trope I love. Except amnesia. (Note to self: request amnesia.) Listen:

Jax has a slight issue with control—as in, she needs it. Always. Too bad she only has power over the Painted Lady Bookstore, the Victorian mansion turned bookshop she inherited. No one else listens to a word she says. Her ex gets engaged for questionable reasons. Her beloved sister Ryleigh wants to move away to find a husband. And the handsome contractor Jax has chosen to convince Ryleigh to stay is only interested in Jax.

Still, she’s living the bookworm dream—until an unhappy accident erases the names off the bookshop lockboxes where the town keeps their diaries. Which means the only way to find a diary’s owner is…to read it.

As secrets spill and scandals surface, life at the Painted Lady Bookstore gets a lot more colorful and chaotic. But for a woman who’s always had to take charge, Jax will see that losing control—especially with the right wrong guy—can set you free.

“As secrets spill and scandals surface…” Does it get any better than that? If you haven’t read Susan Mallery before, I can promise you’re going to laugh and cry and smile as you finish the last page. If you have read her before…Well, you’ve already ordered it, and we’re all in for a good time.

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Read an excerpt and order THE BOOKSTORE DIARIES here on Susan’s website.

Please share this with your dearest friends and take a moment to share memories of your own good times together.

Warmly,

Christina Dodd

New York Times bestselling author of many, many novels and stories which you can find here:

Printable/downloadable booklist sorted by genre, series and in order.

Books by Series with covers and links.

Upcoming in 2026: TEACH THE TORCHES TO BURN *or* My Big Fat Verona Wedding

“That’s what happens in plays, yes? The shit hits the fan.”—Edward Albee

9. No bad hair days.

8. Brides never start their periods.

7. Babies never have colic.

6. Cowboys never smell like cows. Or horses. Or manure.

5. Heroine never has to GO.

4. Hero always puts the seat down. Addendum: he never passes gas & claims his shoes squeak.

3. Hero always comes up with good date ideas as opposed to Monster Truck Rally. Addendum: He arranges for the babysitter.

2. Virgin sex is wonderful! Mind-blowing! Not awkward or painful!

Christina Dodd’s #1 REASON WHY READING IS BETTER THAN REAL LIFE:

1. When hero is a jerk, heroine always has a great comeback. Right away. Not 24 hours later.

Your turn. What have I missed?

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Christina Dodd
New York Times bestselling author

Upcoming in 2026: TEACH THE TORCHES TO BURN *or* My Big Fat Verona Wedding

Printable/downloadable booklist sorted by genre, series and in order.

Books by Series with covers and links.

They say it is better to be poor and happy than rich and miserable, but how about a compromise like moderately rich and just moody?

The book tour for THE BAREFOOT PRINCESS started when my publicist asked if I was interested in speaking to the Scranton PA Cultural Center for Valentine’s Day. I shrieked, “Yes! I can go to Philly afterward and see my daughter!” At no point did I say, “Yes! Because book tour is glamorous and filled with fine hotels, fine food and adoring fans.”

I had been on book tour before.

Day 1 — Starting at 5:20am I take three flights to Buffalo NY, land at 6 pm, then grab a cab to the Unnamed Really Expensive Chain Hotel. The cab driver puts the suitcases, which weigh a ton because of promotional materials, on the sidewalk because there’s no doorman or assistance of any kind. (I repeat, Really Expensive Chain Hotel.) I wrestle the suitcases through the double door into the lobby.

While I check in, the desk staff asks if I want reservations for the steakhouse. I say no, I got up at 3 am, I’ve got an autographing at noon the next day, and I want room service and bed.

I ask, “Can I get help with my bags?” Because there’s no bell staff. They find some guy in a suit (the manager of this fine establishment?) who gets a cart. He brings the bags up to my room and does none of the usual bell staff services like, notably, turn on the heat (it’s Buffalo in February.)

I order a steak, potatoes and salad off the room service menu. I suspect you’re getting the theme here…Yes, the cow had died from old age, the salad was slimy, the potatoes oozed yellow grease. 🤢Afterwards I went down to the bar and ordered a double cognac to kill the incipient food poisoning.

I’m not posting a photo of that. You’re welcome. Also, punchline coming right up.

Day 2 — I order room service breakfast. Oatmeal, bowl of fruit and OJ. It arrives late (I have an autographing, people! Bookstore owners take it badly when the author is late!), and the room service lady says, “Someone’s coming behind me with your fruit.“ Thank you. The scanty bit of oatmeal has a film on it. I find out the hard way there are lumps. I spit one back into the bowl. There’s a knock at the door. It’s her again — and she hands me a BANANA. As I stare incredulously at my “bowl of fruit,” she says, “Do you want this one, too?” And pulls a second banana out of her armpit where she was carrying it.

Let’s pause while you contemplate the horror. Or laugh. Or both.

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Then let me say — I emailed my publicist who immediately told me to pack and moved me to a lovely bed and breakfast. But also when I asked, “You’re laughing, aren’t you?” She said, (I quote), “Spit out my Special K and yogurt, actually, I was laughing so hard.”

In ten days I lost four pounds, I autographed books in multiple bookstores, and while the book signings were fabulous, ego-building experiences, ten days away is a long, long time, especially when it involves me being pleasant for more than one day in a row. Ask anyone who knows me. I’m a writer. Social is barely in my skill set.

When I got home, I kissed the floor.

Not true. I kissed The Husband.

Thank you to everyone who has ever come for an autographing. I treasure your kindness. Please join the Christina Dodd mailing list for suspense, historical and paranormal updates. Join the Daughter of Montague list for targeted information about A DAUGHTER OF FAIR VERONA and other books in the series. Or join both and be notified of the upcoming TEACH THE TORCHES TO BURN autographings. Bring a banana. I’d love to welcome you!

Here’s my printable book list sorted by genre, series and in order.

Here’s my “Books by Series” with covers; click to find excerpts and buy links.

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The problem with winter sports is that – follow me closely here – they generally take place in winter.” -Dave Barry

That’s because in 2003, he suggested we train a service dog for Canine Companions for Independence, a trusted organization that provides assistance dogs for children, adults and veterans who are differently-abled. We knew training a dog would be a lot of work, but the reward is providing a dog to help someone live a full, joyful life.

CCI breeds and provides the dogs, which are labradors, retrievers, or crosses between the two. When Ritter was eleven weeks old, he came to us already named, and folks—he was hell-puppy. The first thing we were told about him was that he’d eaten a towel and we should watch to make sure he would pass it. (It’s stuff like this, folks, that makes me realize that I’m the living embodiment of glamor.)

Our assignment was to teach him over thirty commands including “Visit” which had him put his head into your lap so you could pet him and “Hurry” which was the “go to the bathroom” command. (Yes, glamor! I’m surrounded by glamor!)

We also had to teach him to “Speak!”

Ritter did not speak. Never. He never barked…except when I was blow drying my hair. That drove him to loudly warn me I was in danger. Big dog WOOF! So when I got ready to do my hair, I’d let The Husband know. He’d bring Ritter in, I’d flip on the dryer and when Ritter got wound up, The Husband would say, ”Speak!” Ritter would bark (at me), and The Husband would give him a treat and tell him he was a good boy. It worked. Ritter learned to speak on command.

Of course, one time I flipped my head upside down to dry my hair, Ritter ran in and before I realized he was there, roared a bark. I had to peel myself off the ceiling.

We took him to restaurants and grocery stores to teach him how to behave in public. He wore his vest, and he grew into a wonderful, sweet, polite dog who everyone loved and who would be (we hoped) a great companion to anyone who needs help in picking up their phone, turning on lights, and opening doors in all the ways.

In August 2004, when Ritter was nineteen months, we took him to San Diego for advanced training at CCI.

Walking away from him was a gut-wrenching moment. My husband tried to be stoic and said that we’d sent two children to college and this wasn’t any different. I knew Ritter, and it was different — I knew he would never call or write.

We got monthly reports from his trainers telling us how he was doing, and while they always said he was intelligent and eager to please, they were concerned about how excitable he was and that he had a fear of (don’t laugh) Care Bears. (You’re laughing!) Yes, it’s true, Ritter was afraid of large fuzzy mascots like the ones at ballgames or who attend grocery store openings. As you can imagine, that won’t do for an assistance dog who has to be prepared to go everywhere.

After five months of advanced training, we got the call. Our little boy had flunked out of college. In one way, we were not glad. Training a puppy was hard work, and Ritter was so, so close to finishing, to making a difference in the world of goodness and support.

Yet of course, he was our baby. We loved him and we got to have him back.

We flew to San Diego to get him, got to CCI and signed adoption papers, then the lady said, “We have a reunion ritual.” The ritual consisted of The Husband and I standing in the hallway while everyone who worked there came out of their offices and watched. She brought Ritter out, released him, we called him, and he very cautiously sniffed us.

When he realized who we were, he was hysterical with joy. He wiggled his whole body, kissed us, rubbed us, loved us. Everyone was laughing and commenting about how happy he was and we were pretty happy, too. I cried like a baby. I have to tell you, except for my kids when they were three months and they smiled at me for the first time, no creature has ever been so obviously happy to see me.

Ritter was thrilled to leave with us (although he said an affectionate goodbye to his trainer), settled down in the rental car, and we petted him all the way back to Washington state, about 1300 miles.

For the rest of his life, Ritter got to “just” be a dog, wrestle with Lizzie, go on walks, and generally be a good boy. At the same time, he had been trained to assist us. Or anyone, really. He picked things up for us, he “visited” with his head in our laps, he snored loudly with his bone in his mouth (okay, that’s not assistance but it was awfully cute.)

For the price of head rubs and treats, Ritter did publicity for me; sat at my desk for publicity shots, listened to all my audio books, and helped me type. Once he sent a message to my assistant. Every year on the summer solstice he went out with us into our stone circle to wait for the sunrise. I suspect he frequently thought we were nuts, but he kept it to himself.

Our boy lived to be sixteen years old, an extraordinary age for a large dog. He groaned when he stood up, but until the day he died, every morning he would take The Husband for a walk. He couldn’t hear us when we said we loved him, but we told him anyway. When he climbed the stairs from the living room to the bedroom, my husband and I would follow him, hands on his rear, steadying and boosting him. The Husband said we were Ritter’s assistance humans.

Turn about is fair play.

During the recent ceremony The Husband and I attended for Canine Companions for Independence, they presented the dogs to the recipients. If you ever get a chance, you’d love to see it and know what good the organization does. (Take tissues.) If you’d like to donate to CCI in Ritter’s name, please do. He was Ritter II, and you can trust your money will go to a deserving cause. They can always use volunteers, too, for all sorts of purposes.

If you’d like to raise a puppy — I’m here to tell you, it’s a lot of work, but gratifying to think someday the dog you trained will help make someone’s life so much better + everyone wants to ask about the dog, talk about the dog, talk to the dog. I’ve never been so social in my life. If you’re thinking about doing this wonderful service, the information is here.

While Ritter would have been a wonderful support dog, in all his life, he never met a stranger; he loved everyone and everyone loved him. He was an ambassador of unstinting kindness to every person. He brought happiness with him wherever he went and that is a great gift … maybe the most important gift that any dog can bring us.

Thank you for letting me share Ritter with you. Group hug, and remember — all dogs go to heaven, and so do the people who help them.

PS1. I took videos at the CCI ceremony. I haven't posted a video on Substack yet, but I will try. Hold for that.

PS2. I suspect a lot of readers are wondering about the stone circle. Yes, we built a stone circle in our yard in Washington. You can read about it here.

She said, “The Daughter of Romeo and Juliet.”

I said, as does every single person who hears it, “Romeo and Juliet are dead.”

Arwen stared at me like I had lost my mind.

Yes. You’re right. She’s right. For although Romeo and Juliet is a hallowed story, it’s also a work of fiction and fiction is not history. In fact, Shakespeare borrowed the plot of this play and dramatically changed the story to make it his own.

Shakespearean scholar Mary Bly, aka New York Times bestseller Eloisa James, says, “Literary theft was second nature to Shakespeare; he shaped Romeo and Juliet from a poem by Arthur Brooke, who took the plot from a story by Matteo Bandello. Brooke disapproved of Romeo and Juliet’s ‘unhonest desire,’ so Shakespeare didn’t hesitate to shake up that chestnut…”

Back to brainstorming… Arwen kindly suggested I get a grip on reality, and we did the deep delve into the idea.

First and most obviously, we discussed how my re-creation would change Shakespeare’s tragedy. For instance:

1. In the play, Romeo and Juliet had had their wedding day and their wedding night, but no way around it, a baby takes nine months (or so,) so dying in the tomb was out.

2. Assuming their marriage was not dissolved by their parents (a possibility, but unlikely since it was performed by their confessor Friar Laurence in his cell, and Juliet was already pregnant,) we have a married couple who are 13 and 16 years old. Will their impetuous love survive, or will it become a bitter union like Juliet’s parents?

3. How does Verona view the now near-tragic love story of Romeo and Juliet? How does their legend shape their daughter? How does she view the Montagues, the Capulets, her parents, their family, and their legacy?

I wrote the first four pages so easily it’s as if Lady Rosaline Montague has been lurking in my mind fully formed.

My name is Rosie, Rosaline if I’m in trouble, and I’m the daughter of Romeo and Juliet.

Yes, that Romeo and Juliet.

No, they didn’t die in the tomb. Brace yourself for a recap, and don’t worry, it’s interesting in a My God, are you kidding me? sort of way.

My mom was a Capulet. My dad is a Montague. For some reason lost in the mists of time, their families were deadly enemies. Yet my folks met at a party, instantly fell in love—nothing bad ever came of love at first sight, right?—and secretly got married. That very afternoon, Dad killed Mom’s cousin in a sword fight, then Mom hated Dad for about five really loud, lamenting moments, then she equally loudly forgave him. They fell into bed and as I heard it, spent the night doing the horizontal bassa danza. Papà went into exile because of the killing (in the next town a few hours’ gallop away), and Mamma went into a decline. To cheer her up, my grandparents decided she needed to get married. Because in my world, all a woman needs is a husband to be happy.

Has anybody in Verona ever once looked around at the state of the marriages in this town?

You can read the rest of pages on my Daughter of Montague website, but you’ve got the idea. Rosie is sarcastic, the child of celebrity parents (Romeo and Juliet have become a legend of martial bliss,) bad at poetry and an old maid with a jaundiced view of passion and romance. She believes, and rightly, marriage is not an advantageous state for a woman in early renaissance Verona. She says:

Actually, I’m not young. My parents have been trying to marry me off to some nobleman or another since I was thirteen years old. As a proper daughter must do, I curtsy and thank them, then I go to work finding these gentlemen wives who they immediately fall in love with and adore forever. I pride myself on my ability to match the aristocrats of Verona with their soul mates, while saving myself from the travesty of love and passion and all that creaking of the mattress ropes and moaning and scratching and . . . You know. Consequently, I’m old, almost twenty years, renowned for the bad luck of being repeatedly jilted, condemned to living in my parents’ house until my younger brother grows up, marries, and replaces my father as the head of the household.

He’s six. I’ve assembled all the abilities to remain single, and I’ve got all the time in the world…

You guessed it. Cue the drums of doom. Any time a character says, “I’ve got all the time in the world,” the shit is about to hit the fan. (I do not have an image of that. Let’s keep it that way.)

In a burst of further brilliance Arwen pointed out it would be ironically appropriate if Rosie fell in love at first sight, like her parents, and was thoroughly chagrinned about it. We discussed how many children Romeo and Juliet would have (lots,) how being the oldest would mold Rosie’s character, why she would be named after Romeo’s first girlfriend, and what would happen when her latest and most hated fiancé did not jilt her, but was instead found in the dark Montague garden stabbed through the chest.

You’re right, brainstorming is fun.

I’ve written, um, like 65 books (not sure of the number, I’m an author, not a mathematician) and for the first time, while writing the first four pages, I fell into the first person point of view. It was so easy, so right! Let’s face it, it’s been a couple of years 😁, but I’ve been nineteen years old and that time is seared on my brain. As Rosie says, “If I have an opinion, everyone has the right to hear it.” I may :cough: have been of a like belief. I’m better now…usually…

But! But…

I put away the pages, because like Rosie, I’m a sensible person and this was like nothing I’d written before. It’s like nothing anyone has written before. Not in a bad way, I hasten to add, but publishers and readers hesitate to embrace new ideas. My career spans thirty-six years as a published author, and I’ve successfully written historical romance, paranormal romance, romantic suspense, and suspense. I’ve hit the big bestseller lists numerous times. I’m not bragging (maybe a little,) but trying to fill in any gaps in your knowledge because this article is actually about you. (and about time, right?)

Do you want to do something you’ve never done before? Write a book, paint a picture, learn a new language, travel, fall in love, fall out of love, be the person you wanted to be as a child: ie, a firefighter?

Someone is going to scoff at you. Your mother. Your partner. Your best friend. “That’s dumb. What’s the point?” They’re going to tell you the truth as they see it. They’re going hurt your feelings.

Worse, at some point, they’re probably going to get to say, “I told you so.”

Are you going to be wildly successful?

Probably not.

Are you going to get rich?

Probably not.

Are you going to mispronounce all the words, get lost in a strange land, be rejected, all for some impossible dream?

Oh yes.

A quote that matters here: “When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, ‘I used everything you gave me.’” — Erma Bombeck

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Who am I to lecture you? Why should you listen to me? I chose writing and during the course of my career, I’ve published books, gone on book tours, had glamorous meals and been courted by editors and booksellers.

But you know what?

I’m the youngest daughter of a widow. We didn’t have money for me to go to college. I graduated from a two-year technical college with a degree in Drafting and Design. I don’t have the creative writing creds, but if you want a sawmill, I can design one for you. I can also tell a story that moves readers to tears or laughter, and I learned to do that by writing. The longer you write, the more you write, the better you get. Yet I still get bad reviews. SCATHING reviews. From official review publications and from readers. For all my books!

You want to know how dumb I was back at the beginning of my “hallowed” writing career? When I got pregnant with our first child, I told The Husband I was going to quit my drafting job and write a book because how much trouble could one little baby be?

Yeah, I know. Hahahahaha.

It took me two kids, three completed novels and ten years before I was published. (Please remember, this was pre-self publishing.) You can do better than me!

I am also the writer who, after years and years of writing, still needed the encouragement of author-friends, Arwen and The Husband before I dug out those first four pages of The Daughter of Romeo and Juliet, ignored all good sense—financial and otherwise—and wrote a book unlike any other I’ve ever written.

Do I even need to tell you I’m not a Shakespearean scholar? I’m a groundling, a.k.a. a plebeian, an audience member at Shakespeare’s Globe who stands in the yard to watch the play. I’m the person for whom he wrote touching flights of romantic poetry, coarse jokes, created characters to be laughed at or feared. I am his audience.

All those questions I asked you? About being wildly successful and rich and being rejected for an impossible dream? Yeah. No. Yeah. The reviews on the Daughter of Montague books are anywhere between scathing, and funny, and wonderful. One star to five star. Some readers (my readers! Who enjoy my other genres!) truly despise the idea of rewriting Romeo and Juliet in a way that relates to the modern world. Some readers (my long time readers and the new readers who have only ever read these books) adore the concept and Rosie’s voice.

What it comes down to is this: for me, the Daughter of Montague is so much fun! I love to write. It’s what I was born to do, and I only have ever written books I would like to read. Yet the Daughter of Montague series is, for me, pure joy. When The Husband, Arwen and I were flying to Verona for our research trip I was reading the final final final draft of The Daughter of Romeo and Juliet (now officially titled A DAUGHTER OF FAIR VERONA,) and Arwen, who sat next to me, asked, “Are you laughing at your own book?” And I said, “Yes! It’s funny!”

This is not the pursuit of success. This is the pursuit of happiness, and you deserve happiness.

Write the book. Paint the picture. Sit on the porch and dream a dream. Become a firefighter. And if you do this crazy stuff, who will you make happy?

How about if you make yourself happy? How about if you write, paint, travel, learn, spend time being the person you want to be? That’s not selfish. That’s living your life. You’ve only got one, and while yes, we want to take care of our children, our parents, our partners, our friends, we really and truly need to give ourselves the room to be who we want to be.

Okay. Enough wisdom shoved down your throat. You know what your circumstances are. Do the very best you can with the material you’re given. Advice from my granddog, Rocky:

A DAUGHTER OF FAIR VERONA is as of this writing free on Amazon in eBook if you have Prime (you have to be signed in and that’s possibly only in the US, but take a look.) It’s your chance to read about the Daughter of Romeo and Juliet and see if you’re in the “I hate this voice,” or “I love this twist on the story.”

According to my publisher, Kensington Books, “The Daughter of Montague series blends irresistible mystery, a wicked sense of comedy, Christina Dodd’s trademark plot twists, a swoony romance subplot, and an incorrigibly determined heroine into a delightful confection that will draw in readers of historical fiction, feminist women’s fiction, mysteries, historical romance, and young adult.”

This is a publisher’s way of saying, “We have no idea how to categorize this book, but we believe in it so give it a try.”

What I can tell you is, since I wrote the first book Daughter of Montague I’ve written three full-length historical fiction/mystery/comedies, two novellas, two short stories that are free for my newsletter friends to read and I’m currently finishing a short story/novella (a length that straddles the line between novella and short story.) I was under contract for the three full-length books, but the others? I write them because The Daughter of Romeo and Juliet brings me joy, and I hope my stories bring laughter and pleasure to you, too. No matter what you do and who you are, remember to take a few minutes to embrace your joy.

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Rachel Mairose, executive director of the Minneapolis animal rescue center, The Bond Between, went on MPR to discuss pets that are displaced because of their owners being detained or deported, and animals owners who are afraid to leave their homes and get food for their pets or take them to a vet. Additionally, The Bond Between did an emergency fund drive over the weekend where they packed pet food supplies to be delivered to homes. They were amazed at how many people showed up.

From The Bond Between’s Instagram page: “We’re trying to find a way to express our gratitude... but we’re honestly at a loss for words. The outpour of support, love, and generosity that has been shown to our community is something we could have never imagined 🥹

From near and far, people have been sending monetary donations, sharing resources, shipping pet supplies, and expressing love. 11 countries. All 50 states. Can you believe it?! This is no longer just a small community working together to help each other. This is a worldwide movement.

A movement sparked by the unthinkable. A movement powered by love. A movement sustained by every day people that want the same thing... to help. To help keep our neighbors safe and cared for.

We’ll never be able to say it enough, but thank you. THANK YOU. THANK YOU! Thank you for supporting our community in Minnesota. Whether you’re a physical neighbor of ours, an online supporter, or a human just wanting to help in any way possible. Thank you. Because of you animals will receive care, families will receive supplies, and more pets will get to stay with their humans.”

All the information is here for you to help or get help. I also suggest following The Bond Between on Instagram because… animal videos. And actually seeing the good they’ve done in the midst of tragedy has lifted my heart.

Today is the 36^th publishing anniversary, and normally I celebrate with contests, writing advice, and self-congratulation. 🙄 Instead, I’m going to close with photos of our dogs. They’re no longer with The Husband and me, but Ritter and Lizzie both lived full, long, happy dog lives, brought us joy every day and, as J. W. Stephens said, “All I want is to be the person my dog thinks I am.” Pets make us better people, so let’s help Minneapolis any way we can.

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Do you know another way to help pets or people? Please add it in the comments. And group hug for everyone!

Not that this has ever happened to me.

Yet seared into my memory was the time The Husband and I went to Costco to get a corporate card. We spend a lot of money there (“Can you help us carry that twenty-gallon jar of dill pickles out to the car? Put it right next seventy-five roll package of toilet paper,”) and figured the corporate card, which refunds a tiny part of your purchases, would pay for itself. The trick is, I’m the corporate entity (because books) and The Husband wanted me there in case they questioned it.

***Please pay attention to the following: The Husband assured me my whole job would be to stand there while he filled out the form and coughed up the fee. ***

Now let us pause a moment and point out that being an author provides a fair amount of anonymity. People sometimes know your name (“I think my mom has read you,”) but they never know your face.

Believing this, I schlepped into Costco with no cosmetics and, well, I’d been working in the yard so I hadn’t had a shower, and I was wearing this grimy denim shirt which used to be The Husband’s, who is 6’ and I’m 5’2” so it’s miles too long for me, and jeans with dirt on the knees and a baseball cap to cover my weird hair.

The Husband filled out the Costco form and the young woman who was putting it into the computer said, “Christina Dodd? I’ve read Christina Dodd.” She looked right at me and asked, “Are you Christina Dodd?”

My first thought was to duck below the counter, sit on the floor and hug my knees. But I’m an adult. I should act like an adult. My mom said so.

I admitted, “Yes, I’m Christina Dodd.” That started quite the kerfuffle. The girl introduced me to everyone behind the desk, and they all acted delighted and said stuff like, “Do we have any of your books here?” (They actually did, but I didn’t realize it at the time.) I gave out Christina Dodd pens and signed autographs. With a brave smile and a wave of farewell, I left the store.

I know, I know, that as soon as they took their break, they raced to my website, looked at my publicity photo (which was taken after two grueling hours of hair and make-up) and said, “That woman wasn’t Christina Dodd. The author Christina Dodd bathes, wears lipstick and has hair that doesn’t stick straight out around her ears.”

While I was at Costco, I did the only thing I could do — I acted with dignity and grace. In the car, I did what any woman would do — I blamed The Husband. (“Stand there while you fill out the form because NOBODY WILL KNOW?! Are you CRAZY?! What color is the sky IN YOUR WORLD?!”)

Stop laughing. I know there has been a moment when you got caught looking less like your usual gracious self and more like your psycho twin sister. Did you chat and pretend nothing was wrong? Did you apologize for the way you looked? Or did you move to a different city, never to return?

Let’s chat while I pack my house and call the moving van.

My current series is historical fiction; I fondly call it The Daughter of Romeo and Juliet. The official series title, chosen by my publisher, Kensington Books, is Daughter of Montague, which gets the point across with more subtlety.

When I started the series, the first thing I researched was, “When does Romeo and Juliet take place?” According to Google, the answer is sometime in the 14^th or 15^th century. That’s a span of two hundred years, considered late Medieval or early Renaissance. Developments in building, art, the trades moved at a rapid rate. Politics in the Italian peninsula involved messy rivalries between city-states, and that mad hodge-podge of change makes it easy to create a fictional world to rival Shakespeare’s. Rest assured, the world of Daughter of Montague is fictional. You can also rest assured Shakespeare never visited Verona, and his imagination provided us with a rich landscape in which to shape our stories.

The one area I insisted on absolute accuracy is the food. Because…food.

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Important food fact: the Daughter of Montague series takes place before Columbus’s “discovery” of the New World. Foods like potatoes, tomatoes, beans, corn and squash weren’t available, and when you think about Italian cooking today: the sauces, the soups, the polenta, you know how different it must have been.

Yet the Italian peninsula is on the Mediterranean and the crossroads of all the medieval and Renaissance trading routes (Marco Polo returned from his 24 year travels in 1295.) So with a land that was and is rich in plants, trees and animals, and spices and luxury foods from the Far East and the Middle East to enrich the cuisine, the Montagues and the Capulets ate well.

For Mamma Juliet’s recipes, you’ll find I play by the rules and serve only period-correct food. Like this simple, summery recipe for…

Mamma Juliet’s Lemon Basil Pesto

Why I prefer this pesto:
Traditional pestos use only olive oil as the liquid. By swapping out half lemon juice, the pesto has a brighter, lighter flavor. It’s also less calories, but my family loves it for the taste. Remember, it is strongly flavored and a little goes a long way.

Ingredients:

2 cups fresh basil leaves, rinsed and spun dry in a salad spinner

3 tablespoons toasted nuts (Pine nuts are the norm and wonderful, but we have an abundance of walnuts, and this time I used them.)

3-7 garlic cloves (Amount depends on how fresh your garlic is. We grow our own garlic, and fresh garlic is milder. It also depends on how much you love garlic, and how many of your friends and neighbors you want to alienate.)

½ cup grated parmesan or other hard cheese (Worth seeking out: Pecorino Pepato, a semi-hard sheep cheese with peppercorns from Sicily. OMG. So good!)

¼ teaspoon salt or to taste

¼ cup fresh squeezed lemon juice

¼ cup extra virgin olive oil (Suggest you try a good California olive oil. Sonoma County is the home of some extraordinary EVOOs.)

Place the basil, nuts, garlic, salt and cheese in the food processor. Start it and as the ingredients mix, pour the olive oil and lemon juice through the feed tube. When the mixture looks spreadable (30 seconds?), it’s done.

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I divided the pesto among snack sized baggies, put those baggies in a larger, labeled baggie, and froze the whole thing. Because pesto is strongly flavored and it doesn’t keep (when exposed to the air for any length of time, the basil turns black), it’s best to freeze it in small amounts.

Use this pesto on pasta, pizza, and crostini, to make a killer primavera salad, or to mix with mayonnaise for a tasty sandwich spread. It’s great on baked fish and grilled shrimp. Offer it at the table as a stir-in for soups, especially minestrone. Mix it with softened butter to spread on bread or, if you’re a baker, mix it (or swirl it!) into your bread dough. Pesto is a creative, colorful addition to your menus, and when it’s served with a hearty red wine — think Cabernet Sauvignon or Zinfandel — it makes a marvelous summer meal.

In my Romeo and Juliet mythology, the Montagues are vintners, a solid choice for someone who loves to visit wineries. I visited three wineries while in Verona, and many more in California. Stay tuned for more about wines and in the meantime visit DaughterofMontague.Com to learn more about The Daughter of Romeo and Juliet series and to become a newsletter friend.

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WAYS THE THE HUSBAND AND I DIFFER

1. The Husband is handy, can fix anything, design anything, figure anything out. I...can’t. I’m lucky to figure out directions like, “Turn counterclockwise.” I can cook. And I can write.

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2. The Husband loves to talk. He talks to anyone. In elevators! Everyone likes him. Me...I talk when driven by need. For sustenance, usually. (“What do you want for dinner?”)

3. He will do anything (write Xmas cards, wash my car, even apologize) to avoid Discussing Our Relationship. I will do almost anything to avoid Discussing Our Relationship.

4. He believes he, and only he, can correctly load the dishwasher. I’m fine with him believing that.

5. When The Husband is mad, he mutters. When I’m mad, I snap.

6. He fondly remembers the ceramic mustard colored lamps we bought early in our marriage. I have No Fond Memories of those monstrosities. We were poor. They were cheap. We bought them.

7. He can’t remember people’s names. He can remember dog and cat names, so when he introduces me to people he says stuff like, “This is Fluffy’s parents.” Which does not help at all in social situations. Me...I can’t remember any names. Not even my characters’ who I live with constantly for months. Or your name, either. I’m not bragging, just warning you.

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8. When eating in restaurant, I like a taste of everything. The Husband wants to eat his own meal. (Aside: One time we were at a nice restaurant and he kept offering me bites of his absolutely fabulous dinner, and when I asked him why, he said, “Because I don’t get to see that look of ecstasy on your face often enough.” I laughed for five minutes. Then I ate more of his meal. To make him happy)

   

9. He’ll say he’s seen a movie when actually he flips through the scenes so all he sees is bits and pieces of it. I watch a movie. Or I don’t. But I don’t flip.

10. He doesn’t understand why I need three purses to go on vacation. I’ve got the large purse with many pockets for my carry-on, my black purse for my black purse, and my small red patent purse because…every time another woman sees it she says, “THAT IS THE BEST PURSE EVER!”

11. I cry over touching stories, truth or fiction. He looks alarmed and worried when I do.

12. He likes the basement, it’s his man-cave. I want light and height.

13. He thinks “Exactimundo!” is an Italian word. I think using foreign words in conversation is *tres* silly.

14. He’ll wear his favorite t-shirts for years, until they have teensy tinsy holes all over. I shop! That’s how I got the best red purse ever.

15. I love cilantro. With a passion. He hates it. With a passion. Not really a reason for divorce. Is it?

Conclusion: This marriage cannot last. But the truth is—we’ve been married since the earth’s crust cooled, he’s the finest man ever, and we’re still stupid in love…most of the time. It took me ten years to get published (overnight success, that's me.) He was the vice-president of a structural engineering firm and he supported me and our children, he read the books that I read, he read my material, he believed in me.

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He still reads my books and laughs at the right parts. After all these years, he still believes in me and that’s all I need. And that, my friends, is why I write romance into every book. Love and romance are real, and worth hoping for and working at. Warning: It is the “working at” part that’s hard. Jack Benny said it best, “My wife Mary and I have been married for forty-seven years and not once have we had an argument serious enough to consider divorce; murder, yes, but divorce, never. “

Explore the Daughter of Montague series (The Daughter of Romeo and Juliet)

Explore all Christina’s books: romance, suspense and historical fiction. There are 65, pretty sure. Hey, I’m a writer, not a mathematician.

Tell your friends. See you next week!

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Yes, it’s true. On February 2, 1990, I got The Call. The publisher HarperCollins wanted to buy my first book, a historical romance, CANDLE IN THE WINDOW. The time was 3:30pm.

This is an Event Worth Celebrating, so let me share Some Thoughts About Writing. Warning — this is Serious. (Christina waits for the dust from the stampede to settle, looks around at the empty room, and shows the qualities that have helped her survive so long in publishing—an immense ego and a willingness to talk into a vacuum.)

MY TOP TEN POINTS OF WISDOM

10. After ten years in the business, an author has A Well Established Career. After twenty, an author is an Expert. After thirty, she’s a Venerable Institution … a Crone. Pardon me while I pluck the stiff white hairs off the chin of my current manuscript.

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9. From my vantage point, everyone in publishing is doing better than I am. From everyone else’s vantage point, I’m doing better than they are. The truth is somewhere in between — and an author who’s published is not going to get any sympathy from an unpublished author who’s written for ten years, finished three manuscripts and has twenty-five rejection letters. I know. I was that author.

8. I can’t remember my characters’ names, and I live with them day and night for months while I write their books. So I apologize in advance, but I’m never going to remember your name, either.

7. How well an autographing goes is not an indicator of how well your career is going. Thank God.

6. I’ve written and published sixty+ full-length novels (new in 2026, TEACH THE TORCHES TO BURN and an unnamed novella,), five short stories, and sixteen novellas in suspense, paranormal, historical fiction. Some books are hard to write. Some books are easy. Some books are beloved by many. Some books are reviled by the vile. As the author I never have an idea which books will be my most popular. Never. I have to give up trying. Soon.

4. Some people write mean reviews. I don’t read them. … Well, sometimes I do. For instance:
“I hated this book because it is all about sex, sex, sex. The story gets lost in the descriptive sex pages which are numerous.”— 1 star Amazon review of SCENT OF DARKNESS

You have to know that over and over I’ve posted this review and sent to my newsletter readeres and sold heaven knows how many books with it! That 1-star review is gold!

3. Some readers simply don’t like my writing. That’s okay, everyone has their right to their own taste — as long as they don’t write mean reviews about my books. (Unless you want to use the word “sex” four times, and then I’m in favor.)

2. Some readers love my books. Some of them write good reviews. Some of them write me heartfelt letters of appreciation. Some of them come to meet me and say wonderful things, occasionally with tears in their eyes. Some of them buy my books and never let me know. God bless them every one.

1. I am never going to understand what people mean when they say I write funny books. I write serious, meaningful, emotional, suspenseful books that somehow get translated into funny.

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AND THE NUMBER ONE POINT OF WISDOM CHRISTINA DODD HAS TO SHARE IS:

1. When a Writer/Crone says she has ten points to make but there are actually more, it’s not a lie. It’s “Fiction.”

MORE NUMBER ONE POINTS:

1. Nine out of ten people in the U. S. want to write a book. One out of that nine thinks s/he’ll do it “when s/he has a free weekend.” In many states, it’s a misdemeanor to kill this person.

1. Publishing is divided into two distinct occupations: Writing Books and Being an Author. Writing Books consists of being alone for months on end, creating imaginary people who converse, face challenges, and make love. Being an author consists of introducing yourself to sometimes incredulous booksellers, talking to total strangers as they enter Wal-mart in the hopes of selling them a book, and interacting with publishers and editors in a manner that will convince them you’re sane enough to write sixty-whatever more books. This is why authors are schizophrenic.

1. It’s well worth pondering that most people don’t have a cool job that consists of being alone for months on end while creating imaginary people who converse, face challenges, and make love. It’s worth the schizophrenia.

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1. The more you write, the faster you write, the more skilled you become. (Watch 30 Years of Books, a video showing all my titles in all the formats: Large print, hardcover, paperback, audiobook, Manga, non-English languages. (Except it doesn’t include the last six years. Yes, yes, don’t nag! I’ll do a new one!)

1. Want to see me froth at the mouth? Announce there’s one right way to write. (Read Christina Dodd tells you THE BEST WAY TO WRITE A BOOK.)

1. Spend every last dime of your first advance taking your family to DisneyWorld. Especially if you’re poor. Publishing your first book is a life-changing event. Treat it like one.

1. The best thing a writer can have if she wants to be successful is a mother who believes she’s wonderful. A husband who believes she’s wonderful and supports her for ten years while she tries to get published helps, too. Failing those things, the most important thing an author can have is an absolutely brutish belief in herself and her talent, and she can never ever allow the facts to change that faith.

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THE NUMBER ONE NUMBER ONE POINT:

1. The Girl Scouts have a song with the lyrics that go, “Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold.” The Girl Scouts know a lot about publishing. And people. And my friends.

Thank you for a fulfilling thirty-six years, and I look forward to writing the next sixty + books … for you.

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