Inspiration is the great con of art. The odds of inspiration hitting at any particular time are about the same as being hit by a meteor while eating a Philly Cheese Steak with Sasquatch. You want inspiration? Work harder the day before so you know where to start today.
I have spent a good many years since—too many, I think—being ashamed about what I write. I think I was forty before I realized that almost every writer of fiction or poetry who has ever published a line has been accused by someone of wasting his or her God-given talent. If you write (or paint or dance or sculpt or sing, I suppose), someone will try to make you feel lousy about it, that’s all.