Inspiration can come from anywhere; a dream, a photograph, a walk down the street you've walked a thousand times before. It's the transformation of that inspiration into an actual story that takes time and dedication.
One of the myths I've encountered over the years is the attitude that a career in any creative field is fun, easy and really more play instead of work. In my experience, this certainly wasn't true when I was working in the theatre and it certainly isn't true for writing. Of course, there are good times, but there are also times of pure nose-to-the-grindstone work. And writers usually write alone. There is no one at the next desk to share a laugh or a joke with, there is only (in my experience) your self-editor, who makes the dictator of your choice a soft cuddly puppy in comparison, hissing that what you're writing is bad, bad, bad.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it's all awful. Every writer has experienced that warm glow that rushes through them when they're pleased with what's on the page. There is nothing like the relief of meeting a deadline with time to spare, or that floating-above-the ground sensation when you open that envelope which contains your first royalty cheque.
But yes, it's work. Researching takes time. Pulling yourself through that first draft takes perseverance. Not deleting it when you read it through for the first time takes self-control. Rewriting takes patience. Listening to criticism takes humility.
Over the past few years, I've seen posters with my name on them, crediting me as the playwright, and I've had many kind people write to me telling me they've enjoyed playing my murder mystery games, but...holding your first book must feel like holding an Oscar.
I really, really want that feeling.
Time for work.