Every day I have to write. That’s the promise I’ve made to myself because it’s not out of this world to describe yourself as something you do on a daily basis. But the harder part of this promise is what I write I have to show. Otherwise where’s the proof? Promises are easily made and easily broken, in my books certainly. When I was between the age of six and fourteen my dad promised me four things in consecutive order (all as important as the other): First school, then house, then dog and then a hot air balloon ride. He promised me that it would go in that order. By the time I was listening to my own music I came to quiet a realisation that none of these promises would be kept.
‘But then did I hold him to the promises?’
Well, at first I tried. I would repeat these things: house, school, dog, hot air balloon ride like a list of religious rites I had to practice in order to believe. My little gods they were these promises. But as the promises dropped off the edge, I tried to make sense of these empty rites – maybe we could get a dog anyway. I wanted to call him Hippopotamus or Nutella. The dog would be a beagle. I can’t believe I’ve still never been in a hot air balloon! Priorities must have changed. So, in honour of these unkept promises I want to at least keep one to myself. I quit my job, and I want to write. So do it every day and put it out there.