Don't call it a come back; I've been here for days.
Just not on the internet.
As often happens, the holiday and vacation time came with nearly as many obligations and crises as they did moments of relaxation and enjoyment, and both my writing and my social networking suffered for it.
It's always interesting, though, when I finally get a moment to reflect from a writer's perspective. Of the crises, a small handful were "real." (The transmission on my wife's car failed, for instance.) Most of them, however, were "self-created." (Frustration over lack of getting done things I wanted to, for example, or facing the bleak specter of returning to work.)
Thing is, the emotional hook is far stronger on the latter sort. We still don't have the transmission taken care of and are utterly unsure what we're going to do about that. But we made it home safely, there was nothing terribly frightening the car dying at 55MPH on the highway, and we will figure out how to manage the repair (or not) in due time. I'm worried about it, but there isn't a heavy impact of that worry on my day.
On the other hand, I'm still stressed over how little I got done, and I have to actively stop myself from feeling hopeless about the job, where we're living, etc. That's where the real tension is. That's the stuff that really has me in a bind, that is shaping my character on a minute-by-minute basis and having a direct impact on what I do and how I behave.
So, to all us genre writers: you know those literary stories where "nothing happens"?
Because in real life, inner turmoil is often way more powerful than hijinks and adventure in a place filled with wonder.