Practice, practice, practice. Practice until you get a guitar welt on your chest. . . if it makes you feel good, don't stop until you see the blood from your fingers. Then you'll know you're on to something!
At the bottom of every leaf-stem is a cradle, and in it is an infant germ; the winds will rock it, the birds will sing to it all summer long, but the next season it will unfold and go alone.