To SWEAR Is Human

People put a lot of stake in promises. Swear an oath, make a pledge, take a vow — you’d better be good to your word. If you’ve ever been on the receiving end of a broken promise, you don’t enter into them lightly.

Only promises can be tricky. Situations change, making a pledge impossible to keep. Or a promise gets lost in the maze of memory. Or loses its purity and becomes a responsibility — a “should.” In my perfect world, there’s no such thing as “should.”

Especially when it comes to love.

Which is what SWEAR is all about.

Okay, maybe not all. The novel revels in ghosts and gods, friends and fiends, abduction and seduction, music and madness and a twisted, tangled mystery. But at its core, SWEAR ponders why we swear our love.

No doubt, it’s an instinctive urge. Love is so huge, so vital, and in a way so scary, it’s natural to say: “Promise you won’t break my heart. Promise you’ll never leave me. Promise to love me forever.” Yet as the characters in SWEAR ultimately discover, love is a gift, not an obligation. Love is a risk, not a duty. Love is to be cherished and respected and fought for, but in no way beholden to our will. Love is more powerful than our intention and beyond our control.

Love is magic, and there’s only one crucial ingredient for magic:

Belief.

Believe that you’re worthy of this magic and it will come to you. Believe that you’re capable of giving this magic, and do so—an equal bliss. Feel it. Share it. Believe, and enjoy!

To swear is human. To believe, sublime.