Danny Kemp.

I did intend to write some more stories here tonight from ‘The View From The Cab, page or ‘The Precocious Chid’ one, but somehow or other the night seems to have slipped away without me noticing. I will however tell one story of how my disposition and views on life were changed for me.
When I first married, at about the age of twenty-five, I used to pick my wife up from her work and we would travel home together. Once there I would plant myself in front of a TV screen, or read a book, oblivious to what she was doing. One night she came and found me, and at first I couldn’t understand why she was berating me so. “If you think that you will spend the rest of our days together sitting on your fat bum (that was a lie because it wasn’t fat then, but I’ll let that pass) whilst I run around waiting on you, then you better change that idea pretty quick” she screamed. I, having been used to my mother doing exactly as my wife was then doing, had never given my selfishness one thought. She was right of course and I did make that change. But how many of us just put up with things, frightened of the consequences of standing up for ourselves?



About Danny Kemp

I was at work one sunny November day in 2006, stopped at a red traffic light when a van, driven incompetently, smashed into me. I was taken to St Thomas' Hospital and kept in for a while, but it was not only the physical injuries that I suffered from; it was also mental ones. I had lost confidence in myself let alone those around me. The experts said that I had post-traumatic stress disorder, which I thought only the military or emergency personnel suffered from. On good days, I attempted to go to work, sometimes I even made it through Blackwell Tunnel only to hear, or see, something that made me jump out of my skin and that's when the anxiety attacks would start. I told my wife that I was okay and going regularly, but I wasn't. I could not cope with life and thought about ending it. Somehow or other with the help of my wife and medical professionals, I managed to survive and ever so slowly rebuild my self-esteem. It took almost four years to fully recover, but it was during those dark depressive days that I began to write. My very first story, Look Both Ways, Then Look Behind, found a literary agent but not a publisher. He told me that I had a talent, raw, but nevertheless, it was there. His advice was to write another story and that I'm delighted to say, I did. The success of that debut novel, The Desolate Garden, was down to sheer hard work, luck, and of course, meeting a film producer.
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