envy

Writers (and artists generally) spend lots of time admiring the neighbors’ grass. It’s not that we’re lazy by nature. (OK, we are, but that’s not the reason the problem occurs.) It’s just that the writer’s life consists of extended periods of work, followed by brief, bright moments when our former work-in-progress becomes the beautiful new release on the bookstore shelf. And then, a few days later, someone else has a book release, and our adorable new puppy becomes the gangly shelter dog that people pass right by without looking. Or so it often seems. If we’re not careful, writers (and, truthfully, everyone else) risk dangerous, and often depressing,