Well, that surge of enthusiasm lasted about as long as a snotrag in a spin cycle. All it took to break the spell was to finish typing up my latest novel notes and start working on the actual novel again. I haven't written such unbelivable crap since my first novel, when I was fourteen*. Everything's just gone dead, man. All the pictures I had in my head, the smells, the sounds, the colours, the music of the narrative... I can't find them. And there's nothing for it but to keep sitting in front of this screen day after day till I find them again, broken lines of text staring back at me like a plate of uneaten greens. Gahh.
*Oh, don't worry, I'm no wunderkind. It never saw the light of day. In fact the only thing it saw the light of was the livingroom fireplace.