Many people have the talent to write, but not many have the ability to do so. Our educational system, even with its faults, makes writers. They may not be literary geniuses, but they have the ability to translate thoughts into words to make a coherent story. This writing may not be enjoyable, but it is writing.
The ability to write flows from within, much like a burning passion that bursts forth in a carnal onslaught, like two lovers ripping off their clothes in an unquenchable desire to get at the flesh beneath. This passion translates into sitting down and writing. A pause in the writing is just a refractory period. Soon the writer is back at The Craft.
I point this out because talent is separate from ability. Writing, like music, is very personable, blood, flesh, and thoughts making written words. Other people may not like to read these words. These words may not meet a threshold of talent. In actuality, they most likely do not meet the literary standards for a person making a purchasing decision to purchase your words.
This circles back to raw, unmitigated passion. I write for my friends and The Wife Unit. Someday I will even write for my children. Even if this small circle did not like my stories, then I would simply write for myself, for I could not ignore the ability to make a story.
This is all a fancy way of saying I can crank out the words but I may be an insipid hack. I would like to brood on this, but the characters in my story, like favored lovers, beckon me. Consider it a warning. I can write two books in six months, but you might not want to read them.