Sometimes you commit to a project that you made up for yourself, one which only you give a shit about, one which no one may ever read but you and then you wonder why you bother. It’s all going along just fine – fruitlessly perhaps – the spinning of words not really amounting to anything but when does it ever? But then you come across the next step, the step of the staircase, almost identical to the stair before it and the one before that and suddenly you need a whole lot of strength or will or something to put your foot on the next one. There’s really nothing at the top of the stairs, nor anything particularly compelling about the journey. There’s nothing at the bottom urging you up, nor anything down there that would shame you if you returned. There’s literally no reason at all to keep walking up the stairs. Well, there’s one. It is simply the agreement with yourself that you would walk up and an idea that you would keep going even when it got difficult. Or tedious. So you keep walking up. One step at a time.