Since living in Colorado the last two years, I have spotted a total of 20 coyotes. Some have been within Rocky Mountain National Park, others on the outskirts of our suburban neighborhood in Fort Collins where they’re so close, we can actually hear them yip at night. 

They are beautiful animals known for their cleverness and resiliency. To their credit, they have learned to adapt to an ever more human-populated landscape. Coyotes have been spotted in Central Park in New York City and one reportedly walked into a Quizno’s in Chicago. They are masters at adapting to a world that increasingly sees no value in them.

Sometimes I wonder if artists—whether writers, painters, dancers or practitioners of other art forms—are in the same predicament. At times it feels like we live on the outskirts of society, doing whatever we have to do to survive. We give piano lessons, teach creative writing at community colleges, freelance edit other people’s manuscripts, and perhaps go on the lecture circuit, when really all we want to do is let our creativity roam wild, and have it be appreciated, protected and valued.

As it is now, artists need to be clever and cunning about whom we share our creations with, especially when they are just starting out and too young to be released into the world.

Predators lurk in writer’s groups, in art departments and in publishing houses. Some of them well-meaning, yet biting in their criticism, inadvertently destroying the vulnerable and the weak. Or perhaps we are guilty of killing off our own babies because they are not good enough or because we are afraid of the criticism we might receive.

Artists must learn to be resilient, cunning and clever. We must keep both eyes open, to avoid the inevitable dangers, as we roam this wild urban landscape. As we continue to cultivate these traits, I hope that we, too, will thrive like the coyotes.