Indeed, only a week ago, I was opening up old spreadsheets and wondering what it was going to be like not spending hours trying to match someone who wants Carson Beckett dressed as a sheep while romancing Steven Caldwell with the writer brave enough*** to tackle such a request.
"It's going to be a cold, lonely Christmas..." I softly sang to myself****.
But then, just when things seemed at their bleakest, Alyse and I were both contacted. There was a light***** in the distance, drawing in weary travellers with offers of fic and glee and hope.
Yes, there is a new fest starting in the tradition of SGA Santa.
Support them, love them, give them your prompts and write them your fic.
SGA Secret Santa rides again!
* And do you know how much of a bugger it is to find a field big enough to handle Asgardian reindeer? Not easy, let me tell you.
** Well, we had nine awesome years, and that one we don't like to talk about in public because it makes Claire's eye twitch.
*** And by brave enough, I mean with enough alcohol and brain bleach to see them through to the other side.
**** It's at this point I feel the need to admit that it wasn't good singing. It was breathy and pitchy and the kind of singing that made the cat look at me in utter disgust******.
***** But not over at the Frankenstein place.
****** This, however, is pretty much how my cat looks at me in general, so it may not have been the singing.