I was blocked for years. It's not something you can 'ovecome' by forcing yourself to write. It's a lot like clinical depression, and 'toughing it out' isn't the way to go. What helped me, finally, was remembering why I liked to write in the first place. I began to read my old work, stared at it in the face until it started to talk back to me, tell me what I should have done instead of what I did.
Okay, so it didn't actually talk. I'm a writer. Poetic license and all that. lol
Then, I didn't go to the computer, but I did take a notebook out into the garden, where I feel my best. (I grow things -- books as well as plants.) I sat in the middle of the tomatoes and wrote about them. It was lousy writing, but it was a beginning. After that, I wrote about the cars passing by outside, and then it all seemed to fly at me. I remembered why I wanted to write.
Me? I write to express things I can't tell people. I invent a fictional way to tell the world my version of it. I write so people can understand me. It hardly ever works, but I'm persistent, I suppose. Someday, someone will nod and 'get it'. That hope keeps me plugging away, day after day, and mostly night after night.
Shadow