Danny Kemp.

I have heard the writing of a book described in many ways ranging from impossible to easy depending, I guess, on the individual’s perception of that task. Some have great imagination and the time able to commit to the process, others neither the time nor the commitment, but I would like to look at it from a different view other than ability or dedication. The hardest part, that I have never seen mentioned.

If you live alone, never stepping out of your comfortable home, you could never be criticized or accused of making a mistake, but few of us are either that narcissistic or independent. None of us seek ridicule we don’t want to be pointed at and spoken off badly:

“See him, or her, made a mistake once still picking them self up from the ground, never find me like that.”

I’ve been blessed, maybe because I’ve fallen more times than most, and never felt the need to use those labels of ‘losers’ and ‘winners’

We crave company, we are all sociable creatures until of course someone upsets that image we have of ourselves and we take it to heart their abuse and censure. Some withdraw never competing again, whilst others strive on, driven by ambition and determination, to succeed in their goals no matter what. I’m not driven by ambition but I am determined and there lies my fault.

The writing of my own novel we easy, it took less than three months. The promotion has been difficult mainly because I had no knowledge of where I should promote. It’s been pleasurable and tedious but not insurmountable, now though comes that hardest part.

My work, my efforts and utter devotion is now irretrievable. They are in print for all to see and pass judgement on. I can not down load it at the first indication of a grammatical error or mistake rectifying it before further denunciation. It stands alone and I’m out there to have that disparagement once again directed at me. I believe in myself and my novel but I too suffer from insecurities.

Please treat it and me gently, if you receive it in a critical mind.

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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.
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