Have you ever felt like a dead armadillo? The Authors Collection
August 14, 2014
I ran across this poor fellow a couple of days ago on a walk around the block.
Those of you who don’t live in Texas may be unaware that armadillos hold a unique place in Texas culture. They are best known by their characteristic of dying in vast numbers on the roads and highways of the Lone Star state. However, it is a little rare to find one’s carcass on a residential sidewalk.
When God made armadillos he was obviously having a bad day. The critters are ugly, virtually blind, unintelligent, and they root around in yards tearing up the vegetation in which homeowners have invested considerable amounts of money.
If they are cornered by a dog, armadillos curl up in a ball and use their outer armor to ward off attack. Most dogs are smart enough to give up an attack on an armadillo after a few minutes, realizing that it’s just not worth the effort for the possibility of such slight return.
All of this taken together raises the question: What gives an armadillo’s life purpose?
It is a mystery known only to the armadillo, an enigma like Mona Lisa’s smile, an impenetrable cosmic unknown.
Which, of course, is why armadillos remind me of writers.
What was God thinking?
Create a breed of people who live within the recesses of their troubled minds, imbue them with a desire to put their thoughts on paper, fill them with hope that they may transcend their frumpy existences?
He didn’t even give authors an outer coating of armor with which to quench reviewers’ firey darts.
However, the writer’s obliviousness to the outside world may, in fact, be his best defense. In the world in which he lives heroes arise who triumph over evil after facing impossible odds, love takes hold of human hearts, losers win, underdogs move to the head of the line.
People love armadillos because they expect so little of them and wonder at their tenaciousness, their ability to survive against odds stacked against them.
Like, I said.
They remind me of writers.