I have several reasons, er, excuses, for my silence.
Check, check, check, check. Not the last one. I finished my shopping before Halloween.
But there is a real-er reason. WRITER'S BLOCK.
I couldn't write a thing for those weeks. Not the Christmas letter. Not a word of revision in a novel. Not a blog entry. NOTHING.
Then I confessed the block to Edna Whittier, a fellow writer. She gave me a kick in the pants. The next morning, writer's block was gone.
Snapped off the Christmas letter. Wrote a near-final essay for NPR. And am now digging into Max 1 (again! Sigh) to fix the problems an agent was kind enough to point out.
And I'm working through the reading slush pile as well.