The same friend who kept me company deep into Saturday night, said this about poetry. I believe it could be applied to all modes of writing.
"Memories, within themselves, are not enough. Only when they have changed into our blood; when they breathe in some corner of our minds, melting into glance and gestures, movements and thoughts, and are nameless and indistinguishable from our own self - only then can it happen that in some very rare sacred hour, the first word of a poem will arise in their midst and move forth from among them."
This is why I know the muse will return. This is why three lines will turn into a post someday soon. "I can feel it in my bones." :-)