The novel-in-progress has been pretty-well stalled lately, both for circumstances beyond my control (that illness of mine, immediately followed by the climax of the Christmas season) and within my control: I had reached a point in the story where I couldn't figure out how to make the transition to the next stage, even though that next stage is frighteningly, maddeningly close -- it's like in those adventure movies where one trail ends, the next trail starts just twenty feet away, and between the two is a bottomless chasm.
However, I finally figured it out. The solution was two-fold: first, I started suspecting that one scene that I'd been dreading writing actually doesn't need to occur, but then I had to figure out what happened instead of that particular scene to get me to the point where I need to be. I hit upon the solution last night, however, and theoretically I can start picking up steam again now that I'm healthy and the holidays are just about over.
For some reason, January has always felt like a relief to me. When I actually had jobs, I liked to take vacation time not over Christmas but two weeks after it, and this is why.