You know there are some things that you just don't talk about in polite society. Like sex. Well, yeah, I'm not a member of polite society, so I talk about sex. And anyway, Stephen King says if you want to write, your days as a member of polite society are numbered anyway. I'm glad I got it out of the way early.
No, what I don't talk about much is Writer's Block. I don't believe in it. I believe I've said before that I don't believe in writers block unless you lose a hand or something. I don't believe it even when I have the classic symptoms. You know...whining, moaning, feeling like I can't write, lying back all dramatic on one of those fainting couches...
That's perfectionist's block, procrastinator's block, refusing to just type out the words so I can continue to be a prima donna block. But none of that sounds as glamorous or sexy as writer's block. Sure, the words I write, they might be shit. But if it's the crap draft, who cares? I can fix it later.
If it's revisions...well revising a novel is a big ass and not necessarily linear project. You make a big ole list about what you're going to do and you fix what you can when you can and don't spend hours obsessing over what you can't yet fix. It'll all come about in time.
Now some days I believe I am just exhausted. If you write several days in a row and feel tired, take a break. But call it a break. Calling it writer's block only serves to set it up in your head that such a thing exists, that writing isn't a choice, but something that flows magically from the gods. It's not a very empowering way to go about.
Of course this could be a quirk of me. I don't believe I get colds. I mean I believe they exist but I refuse to acknowledge if I get one. If I get the sniffles, I call it allergies and move on. Now the flu is something quite different, that I can't ignore or deny. But writer's block is sort of like a cold, even when I have the “symptoms” I call it something else and move on.