Scribbles From A Mad Mind

There are two things most important to those who aspire to write great works. First, there needs to be creativity, for without it you can not create. And then there needs to be brutal honesty, for how can your literature be worth a dime without it?
But there is an honesty about creativity that many of the greats do not admit to.
Creativity is not a tap.
No one can decide when to be creative, or how much of it is let out at once. For most it comes in random, short bursts. For others it can be predicted, but never controled. And almost rarely can an entire idea be fleshed out in one of these times of bliss.
Passions require work.
And for I? Creativity and I are rarely on speeking terms. But when I do hear from that beautiful creature I can not be stopped. That is, of course, until my time to speek runs out and the beast retreats. In that time I am able to access a part of me that gives birth to a world of truth. I am able to provide a small scribble of my mad mind.