There’s are days I don’t see the point in writing. It’s like banging your head off a brick wall, screaming at the world but nobody is listening. You try, and you try and try some more but you might as well throw in the towel. Writing can be the loneliest, most frustrating of activities. Then I walked into a hotel this morning and found this piece of art staring at me. Was it a sign? I don’t know. But it gave me a glimmer of hope to persevere.