When I experience writer’s block, I try to write about the experience itself. As the following snippet suggests, writer’s block is not always the inability to find a topic but the inability to translate and expel a feeling:
An inkling as intelligible as sanskrit shivers in the marrow of fleshed-out bone. All molars and foreign tongue, it chatters on my nerves like sick babies beseeching air for translation—aching for deliverance from shadow and breath, and grinding. Chisel to gut. Chisel to throat, the sense turned urge drives me to pen it—to exorcise it blue across the white linen page.