Writer's block manifests as a great big void in the head, a chasm, a vacuum that violently destroys anything that is sucked into it. "You can not create something from nothing!" it mocks. When forced to yield produce, the creative mind ruled by writer's-block-regime concocts the most far-fetched imaginations ever, and immediately dead-ends with them, lacking a suitable ecosystem which can nurture the unnatural creature. Despair sets in, the blogger logs off.
But it is not a fruitless endeavor altogether. The sojourner who would dare to plumb the infinite depths of writers block must be strong, stubborn. One needs the endurance of a marathoner and the persistence of a housefly. To gaze into the mind-boggling emptiness of writer's block is to attain to the same heights of courage as a pioneer venturing into deep space. Yonder darkness conceals prospects fruitful and bare, and who knows what countless combinations of terrible monsters inhabit the unfathomable darkness? All manner of words and ideas suffocate the void with pregnant possibilities. Some must be chased down to the outskirts of known creation, and will not give themselves to easy capturing. Some concepts may never be captured without inventing entirely new tools to hunt them down with.
Truth the told, the writer's real block is most often the wealth of options at hand, so that to choose any is to forswear all others, no matter how alluring they may be. The opportunity cost of making a choice seems higher when the chosen turns out badly. But rather than run in bewilderment from the choice, one may get fully engrossed in examining the edges of their writer's block patiently, with a torch, like a prisoner searching for a crack in the wall, or a detective cross examining the suspects and even victims, or a lawyer cross examining the witness, or a lecturer scrutinizing exam scripts.