This goes out to my angel in the room. he tends to make things sweet and lovely. he wants me to think about how my writing would be better if people didn't think I was a bit offbeeat. Also proper people don't think left of center. They fit in. They belong with the rest of the crowd. Am i the weed in the patch of roses?
I look at this and I think that I am not a weed. If the color is red, then I'd be blue. Why? I am me, and I should not make excuses for myself. I should take risks that are good for my craft. Can't play it safe when I know the unique voice is the one the angel hates. So the angel does me a favor, and I read him wrong. He questions my true impulses because he wants me to know they stand out. He puts out the list of contraditory thoughts not so I can be normal, but so I know that it's unique.
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