No, I'm not venturing into critter erotica. Since that's now out of your mind I will say that this blog's title isn't a tease.
I've been getting everything I need for WorldCon ready. List of what to pack: done. Business cards: printed. Pitches: in progress. List of panels to attend: getting longer. Confidence: M.I.A.
I'm a worrywart. Always have been. Once my head is filled with worst case scenarios there's no going back. I know myself well enough to recognize the warning signs so I can stop my brain before it reaches critical...most of the time. The times I can't are when the stakes are high. Right now, the stakes are high because I want this BAD. I want to be a full time writer. I've wanted it since high school, which coincidentally was the last time I had freak out like this.
At my high school, not only did we have to pass all of the requisite classes, we had to complete the Senior Project (Dun, dun, dun). I don't remember the specifics of the project (it was a long time ago) but in short it involved writing a very long research paper, a service project, and giving an oral presentation to a panel. Anyone who failed to complete any of these three items with a passing grade didn't graduate. The last item, the oral presentation, was done the last week of class so if you screwed up, you were up a creek without a poodle.
There was no school the day of the presentation so the building was filled with stressed out seniors memorizing notes. I'd memorized mine the night before so I had nothing to do while I waited for my turn. A friend saw that I was unnecessarily freaked out and took it upon himself to provide a much needed distraction -- breaking into the teacher's lounge and pulling up illicit things on the internet. This was in 1997 so that meant logging into Netscape and waiting for the dial-up connection to load the desired content one trickle at a time. So during the half hour we spent in the lounge we were only able to listen to two short audio files. The first was a Thundercat outtake of Mum-Ra talking dirty to Cheetara and the second was of Donald Duck getting a blow job from a goat.
I know, it's unorthodox but it did the trick. I laughed until I cried. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much and I completely forgot about all those worst case scenarios. My hands still shook during the presentation (a panel of judges can unnerve a girl) but I got through it with a passing grade.
So next week I plan to bring lots of fun entertainments for the flight to San Antonio. One friend has already pledged to give me a long awaited chapter to read, I've got Kevin Hearne's books to read, and I've got technology that I can fill with raucous sound bites to take the edge off of my nerves. By the time the plane lands I should be good to go.