ALL THOSE YEARS IN THE SHADOWS

I may be in over my head on this "WIP Big Bang" thing.  

Yesterday was the first check-in.  I was all ready to strut my stuph, because I had written 740 words that I was very proud of.  I had gotten the Third Doctor's voice down perfectly and set the scene for his meeting with Pitch Black.  I'd also outlined all twelve chapters and gotten down a separate scene towards the end of the tale.

I was feeling happy with my progress until I saw someone else's comment about "all 50 fics" that they'd submitted for check-in, and then another comment from a different person about having forty-three thousand words written so far.

Now it feels silly to be proud of my 740 words.

Intellectually I know full well not to make comparisons.  But I am feeling dreadfully intimidated at the moment.

I really want to tell this story; it's near and dear to my heart, and I'm hoping at least one other person out there will enjoy it too, despite the "crack treated seriously" nature of such a crossover.

I guess I'm settling in here, since today I uploaded all my old LiveJournal icons.  This one is of a contortionist named Albana, and it's one I usually use when I'm on a deadline and Life is making me twist myself into a pretzel, physically and metaphorically.

I'm getting ready to be a first-time vendor at Boskone, a science fiction and fantasy literary convention that's been running for more than fifty years.  I have attended the con many times, but have never set up table space there.  I'm running around this weekend trying to triage what I'm taking, because there's only so much space.  On top of so much to pack, I have to make sure the boxes don't weigh too much [books, ha ha], because both I and my two drivers / table helpers have medical issues.

It will all get done, I know, but I'm a bundle of nerves.