I went to work this morning feeling a little neglected and disappointed about certain matters that I had previously commented on, and my mood was not lightened as I made a start. I picked up in Canary Wharf and was on my way into the City. At the first set of traffic lights a car pulled up alongside and the driver tooted its horn. “Where’s the Meridian Hotel” he said, and I purposely avoided the word ‘asked’ there. He was a big fat man with his stomach tight against the steering wheel. I asked “was there a please somewhere there?” At that he visibly sighed and then in an exaggerated fashion said “please.” I told him to F Off except I actually filled in the missing letters after that “F.” It was then that I realised that there was a lady in the back of the cab and I immediately apoligised at which she reassured me that my apology was completely unnecessary. Unfortunately for the rest of my day I found more people akin to that motorist than that lady passenger.
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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.
