Come on, they’re not
weeds. They’re beautiful metaphors. But let’s face it—I am to a manuscript what Miracle-Gro is to a patch of seed-filled ground. I get so many flowers popping open, it’s hard to tell one metaphor from another. Just a blinding sea of crazy color. (Enter sadness-tinged sigh here.) Time to cut some of the blooms from my current revision.
Picture it: freshman year on a Missouri college campus, cluster of sweaters under an oak tree, belly laughter over the results of career aptitude tests. Mine insisted I should become either 1) a florist or 2) a landscape architect. Who woulda thought that crazy test actually had some truth to it???
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