The Dog Caught the Car

For those not familiar with the writing for more than fun model, professional writers are supposed to make pitches to magazines somewhere between three to six months before a magazine will run the feature.  The editor then says,something like "That sounds good, go for it.  It's due in six weeks or what have you." and the writer then labors to craft what they said they wanted to write.  Because I've mostly stayed in the safe cocoon of writing blogs and one shot wonders, I never pitched. 

Part of it was being a young (in writing terms) writer, I don't think six months ahead.  In my own life, six minutes ahead is pushing it.  But I'd been wanting to grow and the one shot markets with the advent of blogs, have dried up a bit, (Why buy the cow) so I knew I'd have to start branching out if I wanted to continue. 

So last week, I made a pitch.  I got a yes. 

Now I am scared out of my mind that I will finally prove in print, I am an idiot.  Mind you, with typos, mishaps and misspellings, the Internet already has sufficient documentation, but I can always shrug and say, "Hey, it's the Internet. What you gonna do?"  I'm also worried I'll choke.  I have a history of this to back up that fear.  In grade school, whenever the volley ball would be sent my way, it either found the floor or my head but never my perfectly positioned to bump arms. In my biggest dancing role ever in high school, we had these cool pink poodle skirts we were supposed to rip off to reveal pedal pusher shorts when the music switched from the 50's to the 60's.  My skirt fell off 8 counts into the music.  Graduate school, graduation day;  I'm going to have a Master's.  I back up the car at the grocery store and a truck scrapes my door, making the passenger side inoperable.  My history is replete with these sorts of moments.

So now I get to work and I can't wait...but having gotten the first part of the yes, I admit to having a huge wave of stupid wash over me as I stare at the blank page at what is supposed to be a "real" article.  I am the dog that caught the car.  Now what?