I don’t have a problem with writer’s block, but sometimes I do have a problem with laziness. Yesterday I traveled from a fancy hotel room in Chicago to an empty apartment in New York. (Mrs. T is still up in Connecticut—the doctor ordered her to stay in bed and take antibiotics.) I dropped off my bags, checked my e-mail, grabbed a sandwich, picked up nine packages and a bag of laundry, and returned home to finish writing a Wall Street Journal drama column about the two shows I saw in Chicago on Sunday…only I couldn’t make myself write another word. Which is, of course, an evasive way of saying that I didn’t want to write another word, having already cranked out two pieces in Chicago and part of a third on the plane yesterday….
Read the whole thing here.