I write because I can't NOT write. When an idea hits, it roars down the canyons of my mind like a flash flood, sweeping everything before it. All else fades into oblivion. I am manic until the idea has been captured and contained.
One year, driving between jobs, my mind would start in, and I began to carry a tape recorder. Songs, even, popped out, from someone who can barely carry a tune. Amazing!
Normally, at bed time, my mind shifts into high just as my body starts to relax.
Try to sleep through that! I dare you to! I learned to keep a notebook and pen by my bed.
Inspiration is a white heat.
And when it is done, once I have calmed and cleaned the raw, muddy flood, I just have to thrust my placid pond under someone's nose. I have to watch their face as they read my creation (whether they really want to, or not, it seems.)
Then I am at peace and can rest.