When words won't come

Ah yes, we all know it. The infamous "Writer's Block." Where we stare at our paper/screen and frantically try to think of something worth putting down, but nothing comes. What makes it worse is if you know what you want to write, but not how to write it.

That's where I've been with Feather and Fang for a couple of months now. (By the way, if anyone thinks I'm juggling too many projects, yes I am! Three full-length stories, college, and at least three movies in various stages of completion.)

So, this is where I've been stuck:


The wolf-hunter growled in desperation as his boots began to sink into the churning sand. The cavern wall rose away from him as the sand began to sink. Fingers scrabbled at smooth clay, searching for something, anything to grab on to. A stone pillar rose up out of the sand, hitting him in the side as he dropped down.
The pillar rose past him, and Redpaw altered, his claws locking onto the grooved face. He turned to look for Crestlen and caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye, hanging with one hand from another pillar, above and to his right.

I didn't know how to describe what happens next. Point blank. Which is pretty sad, because (as you can probably tell), this is shaping up to be a very dramatic scene, and to not be able to find words to tell it is just... well, sad.

So the other night I switched to a different writing spot (not sure if that did anything), put in headphones with epic music (Two Steps from Hell, anyone? Don't hate the name till you hear the music :P), and just started writing. I almost immediately deleted what I had put down, but that didn't matter. The point was that I had started pushing myself to write, and when that happens, you break the dams on your imagination.

Soon the ideas began to flow again, and I find myself knowing exactly where the scene was going to go, and how I was going to describe it. Mind you, I didn't get very far; (it was late), but I got somewhere. And next time I sit down, it won't take long for me to slip into the channel again and speed on with the river's flow.

The cavern begin to shake violently, chunks of rock falling from the ceiling. The delicate balance that had held the surrounding rock and sand together had been disturbed, and now everything was falling together into the abyss that had so violently opened up below the two hunters.
Redpaw scrambled up to the top of his pillar, gathering himself for a leap. His sharp eyes flitted from point to point, marking out a path among the collapsing pillars. For a brief instant he looked back at Crestlen, and his heart sank as he realized the hawk-assassin hadn’t moved. Below them a red glow had begun to break through the spinning sand. A thousand thoughts spun through Redpaw’s mind in an instant, and he knew exactly what he must do.
With a snarl he spun around on the pillar and launched himself back to the struggling Crestlen.

Full of watery similes,

Farjag