Everybody has a book in them, or so it's said. But it's something else again getting it onto the page and to a place where it might be shared.

I have been writing since I was a young child. Always, my dream was to see my name on the spine of a book. Books gave me life, a dream to live by. Through their portals I could escape so easily into other worlds. Books also saved my life ... yes, really!

This is the story of my books and my journey as an author, including a very personal view of my journey through Life. I hope it will inspire and give hope to writers and readers young and old.

Getting published can be a waiting game. It's hard .. and getting harder. But then sometimes it can happen in an unexpected way and suddenly, we truly are living our dream. And we realise that it isn't after all the winning that is important, but the journey that is ours along the way.

I would love to hear from anyone who connects with what is written here. A signed copy of any of my books is available. You have only to write and ask:

Wednesday, 28 October 2015


Sometimes words slip out in a stream of consciousness, and suddenly, I'm looking back at the woman I once was, waiting for my man to come home ... waiting for the unexpected gift ... waiting for a spark of understanding ... waiting with arms outstretched ... always waiting ... and waiting never made it come ... Now I am the Lady in Waiting for the Knight who will never again return Home!

                                       A lake of soulness, a place of sadness and space
                                       where I feel alone ... afraid ... unsure ...
                                       and more than anything, not knowing suddenly
                                       which way to turn.

                                      What do I say
                                      to make the pain go away?
                                      How to act
                                      to retract
                                      the tears that pour through all the years
                                      pooling in the lake of sorrow
                                      from yesterday, today, tomorrow,
                                      where that sense of grief prevails
                                      as if I've lost something precious,
                                      something special
                                      which was there ...
                                      but now is gone.

                                      Right now, everything feels like quicksand,
                                      the place on which I stand
                                      suddenly uncertain.
                                      I need to determine
                                      who I am, what I'm doing, where I go.
                                      The same old questions
                                      slipping through Time,
                                      pooling in this place
                                      of sadness and tears.

                                     I'm a lost and frightened child
                                     because I see things different.
                                     Is that so wrong?
                                    Why should it matter?
                                    Why does he care?
                                     It's what makes up Me -
                                     the Me he has to come see and know.
                                     But then, right now, it's not enough.
                                     I have to be tough ...
                                     But I'm just not like that at all!

                                     I cry ... I know why.
                                     And it isn't what He thinks!
                                     It isn't just caught up
                                     in machines I don't understand.
                                     There's so much more,
                                     while at the core
                                     what I really need is Love.
                                     Hugs and cuddles,
                                     gentle words,
                                     smiles, and ...

                                     I feel things deeply,
                                     Is that wrong?
                                     Stress makes my head hurt,
                                     my heart ache.
                                     But instead of a good shake
                                     and shout,
                                     I cry instead with yearning;
                                    with aching, gnawing need
                                    and the plea
                                    to simply feel accepted
                                    Just the Way I Am.

                                    For that to be enough.

                                   He's there immediate with the phone.
                                   Does he get frustrated and shout,
                                   raising his voice at another
                                  when they don't understand
                                  what he's talking about?

                                  It must just be Me.

                                  I'm not enough, for sure,
                                 while others vie for his attention
                                 more and more and more.
                                 He's there for them.

                                 So what's the point?

                                 I'm supposed to accept the way it is,
                                 alone through the week
                                 while he's away working
                                 and with people, yes, yes;
                                 those who understand and know
                                 without him having to show
                                 them how to be, what to see,
                                 telling them to recognise the truths,
                                 the facts, the techie moves.

                                I write ... rubbish!
                                I paint ... so what's special about that?
                                I play, I see things in an unusual way.
                                So what?
                                You're not an idiot, he says,
                                but why can't you understand
                                the way I do?
                                Why can't you see and tell
                                and do
                                the way I am?
                                Keep to the Plan!

                               What Plan?
                               I've already said!
                               How many times does it take!!

                              What do you do ...
                              when all I want to hear is:

                               I love you

                               copyright: Janine Harrington, 2015

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