Writer's block

I wonder if woodworkers can have blocks*? Certainly there's the delayed start syndrome that often precedes a large project, where nothing can be done until some mason bees have been given new homes for the summer, some long-ignored handleless carving chisels given nicely turned rosewood handles and copper ferrules before being bunged into the back of the drawer they came from, and then, approaching the necessity to actually start the job in hand, to sharpen tools and move some machinery around so that a piece of wood longer than six feet doesn't exit the thickness planer and jam under the window sill, pushing the planer over backwards in the process. This sort of thing is not really a block, just a nervous procrastination; there is, after all, no doubt about what has to be done: the drawings are made, the new boards are stacked and waiting patiently, and almost certainly a deposit has been received and partially spent. Oh yes, there's no doubt at all about the shape of the future, rough hew it how I may.
The blank page - or rather the blinking cursor at the top of an empty text box - is a very different proposition. Except in the vaguest and most general terms, there's no plan, no expectant stack of teak boards, no hopeful client. Only a self-imposed and vague promise to write something - anything -but what? In other words it's all about design and creativity, not execution. When in doubt though, it's always possible to write about the inability to write about anything, but this is obviously cheating, as well as boring to read, so I'll stop.

For woodworking though, it's been a busy time on many fronts:  repairs (chairs as usual); the teak table into teak chest trick; a start on the teak and concrete table and benches; a new set of wide entrance steps to our house, replacing the rotting boards put in over twenty years ago; finally the new flat deck for the aging Toyota.

*Other than the obvious kind