Here in Connecticut, April came rampaging in like a belligerent old ram. The mean-looking type with the big bad horns that Aries horoscopes always feature. The sort of creature that stands its ground, shakes those big bad horns and declares that “Winter ain’t over till I say so.”
I will now illustrate with a photo of my garden:
You see my point? That old ram is just a big, obstinate, obstreperous meenie. It’s also supposed to represent all those born under the blessed sign of Aries. My own star sign, coincidentally. It’s said to epitomize all the pig-headed stubbornness of the Aries, the side of us that just won’t give up, no matter how many times we’re pushed over. That whole stick-your-chin-in-the-air-and-keep-going thing.
Guess what? If you’re a writer, that’s probably you as well. It’s hard work, this here writing gig. If you’re unpublished, you’re struggling to get your foot on the first rung. If you’re published, you’re trying hard not to grab a snake instead of a ladder and slide back a few spaces, or even all the way back to the beginning of the game board. Because even with all your hard work, you might still roll the wrong number on the dice.
So that’s us. Writer-folk. Hard-headed, stubborn, determined to meet whatever may come with horns down and at the ready.
And fabulously obstreperous.
Juliana Spink Mills 