ibra (אברא) means "I have created" and k'dibra (כדברא) means "through my speech"

Writers have a lot to learn from composers. There are your monumental, occasional, unrecognised, one-hit and commercial composers. There are even political composers as Shoshtakovich was. However the die might have landed for you, it is, first of all - a gift.
A professor of mine always wondered how come there's such a consensum on best world literature. And it is there because of some mysterious law of progression. Not to get all universy here, it is a fairly interesting process novices go through. They usually start with something quite mechanical - say, grammar - only to go for that first twist. One of the very demarcation lines is still the question of the standard. Those in merely consult; the former obey.
As for the middle to end part of the route, I still do not have first-hand experience: it seems there is everything from boring your audience through repetition to literally admiring the sound of the drop in water or - blank page. There's of course plain quitting and the issue of overstuffing oneself but also something so aptly described by Thomas Bernhard.
I've just learned from Norman Mailer to be industrious and accept disappointment. According to him, it is like running a little store and expecting not to do so well as last year.
Still, just like any art or craft - it's a minor blessing. To have been able to compose the simplest great tune is - a lot. To have created is divine. Or, to put this into perspective: it is a small creation. And you get to continue playing having done a most beautiful castle. Or just go for a soda.