When I think of an author, or illustrator of words and sentences, or just about anyone, going through a writing block, an actual block comes to mind.
The surface is dark and swollen, full of thoughts and emotions and characters that the author is trying in vain to express. It soaks up every little particle of an idea until there's nothing to write about.
Oh, how the artist has attempted to move it! They've pushed and pushed at a side to the point where an imprint of their hands had marked the space and a few droplets of an idea have gathered at their feet. But nothing even noteworthy.
Every failed attempt has left a bitter taste on the roof of their mouth, frustration and disappointment weighing heavy on their tongue.
But they'll try again and again til the obstacle has been pushed away. Until then, the arthor, or illustrator of words and sentences, or just about anyone, will keep at it.
I tried my hand at describing the taste of a writer's block, but it kind of turned into something else.