Do you seethe with envy? Do you turn such a vibrant shade of green, staring at your friend's award-winning, New York Times bestselling books, that you kind of look like...broccoli?
Yeah. Me too.
Comparing yourself with other writers feels like comparing apples and broccoli.
Guess what? Apples taste pretty sweet. Everyone likes them. Apples seem like the cheerleaders who walk off with the quarterback every time, while you push your glasses up your broccoli nose, scribble poetry in your broccoli diary, and listen to your broccoli parents scream at each other.
This bite-sized book tells you how I kicked envy to the moon—well, not the moon. Okay. The front porch. Using my muscular yet shapely broccoli legs, I kicked envy to the porch so I could write my own work.
I became a rat with an island.
Are you more confused than envious now? Super. Consider my job half done. Complete my mission by buying this short yet sweet, broccoli-positive, rat-friendly book, so you, too, can annihilate envy, write your broccoli sonnets, and sing your broccoli songs forevermore.
I have burned and seethed with envy since I was a little kid.
I’ve often confused envy and jealousy, so here’s the Wikipedia version of the difference: envy means you want what someone else has. Jealousy means you’re afraid of losing what you’ve already got.
I didn’t care about what I already had. Envy was my name-o.
I was born and raised to win. I drank that Kool Aid and found it very sweet. My interpretation was simple. I didn’t particularly care about sports or getting a Rubix cube under the Christmas tree, but I wanted to be the smartest. That meant the best grades. That meant everyone knowing I was number one.
By the time I was ten years old, I wanted to be a writer. I wanted it bad. The only problem was all these other writers in my way.