envy Pronunciation: 'en-vE Function: noun Inflected Form(s): plural envies One of the 7 Deadly Sins, envy is the painful or resentful awareness of an advantage enjoyed by another joined with a desire to possess the same advantage for others' traits, status, abilities, or situation.
I'm a sinner. I envy writers who are able to open a vein at will, spilling their words on to the page, weaving their words together magically, sharing their stories unabashedly and zealously drawing in their readers. I struggle with each post. Worse, I have always thought that I would enjoy a career as a writer. Yes, a published writer. Growing up, I was a prolific writer of short stories, poems and novels of suspense, horror or romance (no, not all at once!). My
fans classmates heralded each work as "thrilling", "spell-binding" and "awesome" and predicted that I would be a very successful (and published) writer in the future. (I loved it that my peers were so supportive… My 25th high school class reunion is coming up this summer and I don't plan on attending because in the intervening years I have done nothing with my writing – let alone my life. No need to admit my failures in public!) Somewhere along the way, I lost hold of that dream. And lately, it's become one of my greatest disappointments. I've always experienced a love/hate relationship with words. I love the way they float around in my head – heavy or light, rounded or sharp, hard or soft. Sometimes, they rattle around like ghosts from my past, remembered faces, carrying with them a sense of memory, of love, of loss. When they are present, I love and cherish them. Lately, the words seem to be hidden behind a sheet of gray gauze, the light filtered and semi-translucent. The words are faded, distant, foreign. They come haltingly. If they come at all. Lately, the words have abandoned me. The chatter in my head is so loud that the words are disjointed, often nonsensical, or absent altogether. It's bad enough that I struggle to "write", but now I find myself struggling to string together words in sentences that barely rival a second grader. It seems as though English has become a second language – and one I've yet to master. My veins are open wide, but nothing is pouring out. Maybe it's time to repent.