If you're at all interested in songwriting, I encourage you to go read the Anatomy Of A Song at bobby lightfoot and the orchestra of sweet regret. Right now, he's on part 9. But, dig around a little on his site and start at the beginning. It's a fascinating look into the way some people write and record songs.

And then there's this bit from part #6:

The little voice inside insists that the entire exercise is futile and will provide nothing of value, simply another lovely bauble to reside on a shelf. While this is likely true we do not let such thoughts stay our hand. We remind ourselves that beauty is an end in itself and that creativity is a divine energy. We remind ourselves that the gift of talent is to be enjoyed greedily, sensually, and that it is, like all that is sensual, a thing of the moment. We do not disparage the talent. And above all other concerns, we remind ourself that we are a machine of the universe, designed to take in carbon and process it into beauty. A mill does not question the validity of grain; a printing press does not question the worth of books and we do not pretend to understand our place in the scheme. We simply appreciate that it is good to occupy it and that it is a priviledge and a gift of unimpeachable generosity.