Blog blockages are, in general, created when I can't be arsed posting, or when I don't have time to do anything other than a disservice to the topic and to my adoring readers. It's not for lack of things to talk about, in other words.
Circumstances, obligations and opportunity cost have to be taken into account as the years and the blog roll on.
Periods of apathy and indifference also contribute to what one might assume is a blog blockage. But in fact such times are bought about by - usually, but not always - real life intervening to render the importance of a blog post - no matter how tantalizing the topic - trite, even ludicrous.
To be clear: I have, at any moment in time, a few dozen potential topics at my tips, most of which never make it to the keyboard. Some of the topics are vapid, but others are worthy and deserve an airing, even if my particular take on things doesn't. I often rue my lack of time to blog, itching to present some matter of import or amusement, but the moment passes and I have to move on. And I often rue the time I take to blog, the real cost of it, when I could be writing something else, something more sustained.
But enough about me. Let's talk about writers block.
No other group of workers lay claim to blockage the way writers do, not even plumbers.
Ever heard of a CEO refusing to get out of bed because he has a bad case of chief executive blockage? Or gardeners block? Chef blockage? Clerks seizing up in fright, unable to remember how to file in ascending date order?
Wunder-boy, American writer Jonathan Franzen, supposedly had such a staggeringly crippling case of writers block when writing his latest novel - Freedom - that he was forced to cure it by writing blindfolded and with earplugs.
He is a monumental wanker.
A very rich wanker.