Envy. Not covetousness, just regular old jealousy.
I have a friend, a former co-worker, who has my life. Not my actual life, but the life I always envisioned for myself.
We won't even get into the personal/family reasons for this; I just want to talk about the book.
Like many people, I have a partially finished WIP that for long time, a long time ago, seemed to have great promise. Then I had to go back to work full-time, and then a whole circus of problems and tragedies descended, and now it's a very rare thing if I dig it out and look at it.
Life intervened, I lost my courage, I talked myself out of it, I got scared. Whatever.
This friend, on the other hand, seems to have sat down one day last year and cranked out what she knew was a good story, with good marketability and an interesting twist. Took her about three months. Then she got an agent. Immediately. Had three agents, actually, vying for her work. Picked one, hammered out some edits and I guess the shopping portion of the program begins soon.
I'm thrilled for her -- she's a wonderful person and I'm confident that her book will be a huge success.