Right then...

The writing coach said to clear your mind, hold the pen and just "take it for a walk".
Don't think about it, just put pen to paper and write words.
Once you start, keep going. It's therapeutic.
Peter anxiously set forth, unsure how this would work but also eager to discover what his silent self was thinking.
The nib gently touched  page.
Nothing.
Then...movement.
Unsure how it started, Peter smiled; excited, liberated.
Slowly at first a single letter, another, then...a word.
A sentence.
How long did it take? He couldn't say...a minute, an hour?
Exhausted and sated, he looked at the inner self revealed through words: "Poo sometimes smells nicer on the carpet".
"Well" said the writing coach "that's fucked up".