There are two types of Writer's Block that an author can endure. A detailed analysis of the both of them seems prudent at this time of year as the calendar is running low on days to "X" off and my list of projects to complete in the remaining time is hopelessly long. Silly long, even.
The more familiar type of Writer's Block is nothing more than a massive clog in the bowels of inspiration. You cram in as much as you want on the front end and, other than chronic indigestion, you get zilch to show for it. This leads to angst and rage both from the writer and from the family and friends unfortunate enough to live with him/her.
The second form of Writer's Block is environmental and conditional in nature. This form takes literally the concept of a "Block" and demands your attention in a clear and present manner. A prime example would be mandatory-voluntary overtime at the office when you've already cleared your slate for the completion of those pivotal climax chapters. Another classic is illness of yourself, your spouse, your daughter, your son or any super fun and Facebook-worthy combination of the four. The severity and duration of the illness is always proportionate to the level of complexity in your plot structure, the better to prevent any foggy headed progress during your downtime. Of course there are the distractions brought by any of the previously mentioned family and friends who are likely exacting revenge for the other many days when us writers are being insufferable douchebags.
For you kindly souls who constantly fret over your beloved writer's mental state, take heart. Deep inside, we authors know that it will all work out. Just keep in mind that patience is a virtue and that being an imaginatively constipated tool is exhausting, though unproductive, work. Fortunately, life is short and dead people don't bemoan the biased villany of New York publishing houses. We will all get over it at some point.
In closing, I would like to say that I have now completely forgotten the witty metaphor chain that was going to link creative incapacity to egg nog. And also that I haven't managed a damn word of new material on my current novel in three weeks, but I still get a kiss and hug from the wife and kids every night to erase the sting. And though I am obviously not going to pen the four complete novels in 2010 that I set out to accomplish last January, I did have "WRITE A BLOG POST" on the to-do list. Just for tonight I'll call it even.
Bring on the nog!