Embracing my inner crybaby.

I’m not much of a crier, never have been. I’ve had my moments, of course, most of them in my impetuous youth. Back then, it only took a few words to set me off, but I’ve mellowed and I tend to handle most things with calm. It can be a good thing, that is until the old emotions reach a breaking point.

Case in point, me the other night.

One of my relatives was away for a road trip when we learned from his neighbor that his dear old cat was in distress. For the sake of this post, I’ll call the cat Pixie. We’d been expecting it for a while. Pixie was deaf and blind and had been in a state of decline for some time but she remained a great little companion and was otherwise happy.

When we discovered her the other night, the poor dear was limp and her leg appeared struck by paralysis. I’m not a medical professional but even I could tell her body was shutting down. She was barely breathing. My husband and I rushed her to the emergency vet and, after consulting with our relative, made the painful decision to have Pixie put down. It was just her time.

She wasn’t even my cat but as I held her in that exam room, watching the vet give her the shot that would end her life, something in me broke. I began to sob uncontrollably and didn’t stop, even as my husband drove us home some time later.

You have to understand this is the third death in our family over the past year or so. We lost my mother-in-law a year ago, a blow that was followed by my husband’s grandfather’s passing a few short weeks ago. I realize Pixie was a cat but it was the third loss on the same side of the family and it set off a chain reaction in me that I couldn’t stop.

At the funerals of my MIL and husband’s grandfather, I managed to hold myself together even though no one would have faulted me for crying. There were some tears on my part, but for the most part, I remained stoic. I don’t know why because I certainly felt like bawling. And yet I didn’t, not until I held that little cat in my arms.

It was a good cry, a cathartic cry. Probably a really ugly cry, too. As I sobbed in the car, my husband trying to rub my shoulders as he drove, I think I finally released all the tears I couldn’t shed before.  Boy, did they flow. Tears for my mother-in-law, tears for our grandfather, tears for all my deceased relatives and tears for sweet Pixie as well. I think I might have cried tears for random strangers and the state of world politics while I was at it.

You know what? I should have done it sooner. I shouldn’t have bottled up my despair. I don’t think I was trying to do so but perhaps some part of me was trying to be the brave one, the one on which others could rely. Perhaps I was trying to be strong for my kids.  I don’t know. Maybe I should have allowed my family to see me dissolve. Maybe it wouldn’t have killed them. It might even have helped me in the long run.

I have to thank Pixie for reminding me to embrace my inner crybaby. I had no idea a tabby cat could teach me so much.


Torrents, scourge to authors.

I awoke to a Google alert this morning. It provided a list of about ten new torrent sites to which my books had been added overnight.  It appears someone has been busy, and not just me, trying to create new books.

Torrents are special. I feel at a loss when dealing with them. With other pirate sites, in many cases, there is a DMCA button. One can email the site administrator directly and issue a take down notice. Often it actually works. However, with torrents we don’t have that option. There is no “Contact Us” button. No address. Just a hazy world of online maliciousness and anonymous villains.

What is a torrent exactly? Well, I am not in any way a technical person so I won’t offer to explain it in my own words. I’ll rely on Wikipedia in this case.

“In the BitTorrent file distribution system, a torrent file is a computer file that contains metadata about files and folders to be distributed, and usually also a list of the network locations of trackers, which are computers that help participants in the system find each other and form efficient distribution groups called swarms.[1] A torrent file does not contain the content to be distributed; it only contains information about those files, such as their names, sizes, folder structure, and cryptographic hash values for verifying file integrity. Depending on context, a torrent may be the torrent file or the referenced content.”

As I understand it, the torrent file directs you to another location. This is where I get nervous about clicking links. In fact, when I Googled “torrents,” one of the first docs that came up was one on how to download safely from torrent files without getting viruses.

I ask you, folks, is all this worth it to scam a free book? Most of the authors I know offer freebies and do regular giveaways. We offer advance reading copies for reviewers. It isn’t hard to get a free  book through legitimate means.

I understand the arguments. People are low on funds. Times are hard. We all get it. However, there is this thing called the public library. I work at one. I know how it operates. You go in and show your I.D. and a nice person like me will literally hand you a library card within five minutes. The only time you have to pay is when you’re late. I know for a fact many of my books are available at many public library systems throughout North America, in print and ebook.

There are options.

For the record, I did click a couple of those torrent sites where my books were listed. They led to screens with pictures of nubile women in bikinis, among other things. Did they look like “safe” sites? No. Would I want to download material from them? No.

If you’d like to try clicking on them, be my guest. I’ll just be sitting over here, devoting the next eight hours to crafting another book. By my calculations, it should be pirated in the next few months.


Diane Saxon. Barbara’s Redemption.

I’m pleased to welcome Diane Saxon to the blog today. She has a new romance called Barbara’s Redemption, book 2 of her Disarmed and Dangerous series and I can’t wait to hear more about it.

Welcome, Diane!



Black Hawk pilot Captain Barbara Lynn Perry is running scared. Witness to an event too horrible to think about and too dangerous to talk of, she finds herself alienated from a world she has always had faith in.

With her Special Forces brother missing, she has only one other person to turn to. When her friend Flynn Swann isn’t available, Barbara is left with no choice but to trust the man Flynn sends to save her.

Psychiatrist Dominic Salter’s information from her superior officer’s file is that Barbara has gone rogue. Despite the damning evidence, every instinct tells him he’s dealing with an honorable woman, one who single-handedly saved Flynn from torture and a sure death. Dominic’s challenge is to delve his way beneath her tough, defensive attitude and coax the truth from a woman who’s too frightened to reveal her dark secret.

In his brand new facility containing a state of the art Dreampsych Transcender he’s experimenting with, a machine far beyond a simulator, Dominic has to gain the trust and confidence of Barbara while he resists the hard pull of attraction to this kick-ass woman.

Betrayed by a member of his staff, events take a sinister turn, and the pressure is on in a fight against time for Dominic to persuade Barbara to put her trust in him and reveal the truth before matters are taken out of his hands. 

Pre-Order Links & Order Links

Amazon UK | Amazon.Comhttps://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/barbara-s-redemption   | iTunes


When he skimmed his identification card across the glossy surface of his desk, she leaned forward and shot her hand out to stop it from flying off the edge.

She studied the card. If it was to be believed, and she had no reason to doubt it.

“Retired Army Major?” She cast him a quick glance and then looked back down. Now working for some government department of psychology. Interesting load of initials after his name, but she hadn’t a clue what most of them meant. She understood the one for medical doctorate, and it appeared he was a professor.

Another fleeting look at the cardigan and glasses coaxed a smile from her. Of course he was. It would explain a lot. She studied the initials again. It seemed he’d qualified as a psychiatrist too. Not surprising he had a few silver hairs. Why was it silver hair gave men such attractive sophistication?

He must have spent most of his life studying to gain all the qualifications listed after his name. A nice name, a good strong name. Dominic Salter.

She flipped his ID back across the desk to him. “Great picture.”

His hair had been shorn close to his head, typical army, unlike the man in front of her whose hair flopped in attractive abundance around his angular face. He was a good-looking man, his smoky eyes surrounded with thick sooty lashes the main feature of his face, but the swath of hair gave him a bad-boy look in direct opposition to the impression he presented with his half-moon glasses, smart shirt and tie, and professor cardigan. A veritable contradiction and the yummiest professor she’d ever seen.

It must be the stress and lack of sleep. She needed far more than one night to catch up.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt the slide of lust, but the man behind the desk had little vibrations of interest sparking her nerve ends. Totally inappropriate under the circumstances.

He raised one eyebrow and made her aware her study of him was a little too intense. “So, we’ll do this officially, as it’ll all be on record. Could you please tell me your name?”

She pulled her legs in and jerked upright. She wasn’t yet ready to get down to the official. The uncomfortable curl in her stomach made her want to avoid anything official. Instead she gave him a broad smile. “Betty Boop.”

One black eyebrow raised as he pursed his mouth. It was a nice mouth, a good mouth. An extraordinarily kissable mouth. She almost shook her head in disbelief. There was no way she should allow herself thoughts along those lines about a man who’d volunteered himself, because of Flynn, to help her. It must be an overload of adrenaline still in her system allowing her brain to fantasize inappropriately.

“Perhaps the name you were born with, not your stage name.”



Where to Find Diane Saxon

Author Website | Author Blog | Facebook  | Author Twitter | Goodreads Author |

Author Amazon Profile Page


About the Author

Diane Saxon lives in the Shropshire countryside with her tall, dark, handsome husband, two gorgeous daughters, a Dalmatian, one-eyed kitten, ginger cat, four chickens and a new black Labrador puppy called Beau, whose name has been borrowed for her hero in For Heaven’s Cakes.

After working for years in a demanding job, on-call and travelling great distances, Diane gave it all up when her husband said “follow that dream”.

Having been hidden all too long, her characters have burst forth demanding plot lines of their own and she’s found the more she lets them, the more they’re inclined to run wild. 

Previous Books:

Loving Lydia -Atlantic Divide Book 1

Bad Girl Bill – Atlantic Divide Book 2

Finding Zoe – Atlantic Divide Book 3

Flight of Her Life

Flynn’s Kiss – Disarmed & Dangerous Book 1

Short Circuit Time

For Heaven’s Cakes

Banshee Seduction – Montgomery’s Sin, Book 1