good feelings: bad writing?

I felt awfully good today about what I wrote, but I've been schooled to think that this might be a bad thing. Various literary luminaries have said that if you like it you're probably wrong (can't remember who, because I'm terrible at remembering the sources of things).
But surely this can't be the case all the time? Anyway, I'm going to let myself bask at least briefly.
I have a synopsis for this novel--I'm ridiculously proud of this fact, since I've never been able to write one before. I'm not sure it's a good synopsis, and I notice that I'm going further and further afield from what it set out as the story. But here's the thing: I'm afraid to stop and think about this, or to try and rewrite the synopsis, because I'm very afraid of losing momentum. I keep thinking that at some point I'll have to stop and consider how the rest of the book goes, but so far I've been able to persuade myself not to.
I'm reading Colette's The Vagabond, which is restful, since it's so unlike anything I might ever write.

the necessity of chocolate

Every writer needs a routine. Here is mine. I get up early, eat breakfast, read a lot of stuff. Go to sit at the computer and read my email, then some blogs, then some message boards, then my email again. Then I eat some dark chocolate. And then finally, I write. This is wasteful, time-consuming, and procrastinative (a word?). But it works for me, so I've embraced it. It's important that the chocolate be dark: Lindt is good, also Scharffen-Berger; or maybe a Godiva truffle. During writing I sometimes need to fortify myself with cheesy crackers.
Today Carl got to the cemetery, and yes, he's depressed. My problem in this scene was a nagging worry that a family cemetery left neglected on top of a hill for some years would not be in the middle of a meadow anymore, but in the middle of a young forest. Research is required.

why toast?

I don't know, except that I had toast for breakfast this morning, before I worked on my novel, as I do almost every morning. But it has a festive ring, don't you think?
My novel is about ghosthunters, although I am not one. The main character lives on a farm, which I do not. But still, it has autobiographical elements: for instance, I like farms. I have so far about 200 pages written, which seems like a lot unless I think of how much farther I have to write before I get to the end, which I imagine might be around 600 pp., but who knows?
Today I wrote a scene where Carl, the more or less main character, is hiking up a hill behind his farmhouse to visit the ancient family cemetery, where he will not see a ghost, but will probably be depressed. (Autobiographical note: I have been depressed, now and then.)