In a Writing Funk

My writing seems so stale, so . . . blah.  It's like I've lost my mojo, fiction-wise.  The short story set in the 1950's?  Every word is like pulling teeth.  It's a bit autobiographical--should be easy to write.  Not.  The 1928 California novel?  I've been doing research for a donkey's age.  Have pages of character descriptions, settings, but no plot details, just an overall story arc.  That should be enough.  Again, each word has to be pulled out of my head like a high-forceps delivery and it comes kicking and screaming.  I don't know if this is writer's block or just the feeling of a long-haul slog to publication that is taking forever, so long in fact, that my enthusiasm has, well, shall we say waned? 
Should I start a totally new project while waiting for these others to show some life or should I write poetry for a while, something totally different?  Must admit I'm flummoxed. 
Here's hoping an upcoming European vacation will inspire and encourage.  Need to scrape up the stamina to format my East German book (World of Mirrors) for Kindle and Smashwords.  Need to put the last edits of my fem jep novel.  Those books didn't exactly write themselves, but hey, they're complete and I'm more or less happy with them.
  Last night at a meeting a writer friend announced he had just completed a first draft, 70,000 words.  Normally that seems like a thin little chicken sh__ of a book, but today it seems huge.  I would kill for 70,000 words. A  year has passed and I've not done much at all.  Mostly editing.  If you edit long enough you forget how to write, is that it? 
This week I was actually wondering if I could drink and write at the same time in the mode of Hemingway and Faulkner.  Don't think so.  Would fall asleep at my computer. 

The author perhaps musing about a terrible first draft?

What to do?  I believe the answer is the title of this blog.  Suck It Up and plant butt in chair.  Give myself permission to write a sh__tty first draft. Yup. Onward.