a feeling of discontented or resentful longing aroused by someone else’s possessions, qualities, or luck.
I can list down quite a lot of people whose writing voice I envy. I’m turning 3 years in this news writing business but sometimes I think I haven’t found mine yet. Maybe it’s true, some people have the gift, and some people just make it happen – writing for hours on end because they want to keep being referred to as a writer, even when the words do not always come and the blinking cursor mocks them every day.
My personal e-mail is subscribed to quite a number of newsletters from people brave enough to write about their personal lives and braver, even, to share it to strangers. I don’t read everything they send my way, but I don’t delete the e-mails either. When I get the urge, I open some of them and read away, often wondering where they get the time to write beautiful prose, and why I can’t, for the life of me, write as breathtakingly as they do.
I am my worst critic, I know. And a realist, too.