Snapped

on Feb 20, 2014 by G. A. Hauser

Goldilocks and the Three Books
Making it just right…

Any writer who enjoys their craft tries to mix enough mystery, action, emotion, suspense, and of course, depending on the genre, sex, into their novels. There are some readers who like it hot- like porn-

‘gimme more sex! No! I said more sex!! MORE!’

Others, quite the opposite.

‘…sheesh, there was nothing but sex in this book- no plot…just sex, sex, sex- BORING!’

Some readers prefer high drama. ‘Kill him!! Kidnap him! Beat the heck out of him! Oh come on! No one got hurt? THIS SUCKS!’

Of course the savvy writer, who writes for their readers alone- will carve a niche and stick there. Boldly they will announce, “I am a mystery writer! So all my books will be….mysterious!”

That’s what the big guys do. I mean you don’t pick up Stephen King and expect a lighthearted romantic comedy. Do you? Maybe he’s written them, don’t know. But if you want the shite scared out of you, he’s your man.

I suppose I fall into a niche at times. Niche soup? Yup, men loving men. You can be pretty certain of that in most of my work. But, men loving men…how? My Action! Series? Too much sex? Well, come now. It’s Mark and Steve- what do you expect?
But some of my less erotic novels are more about personal growth. Maturing. Learning to love, to trust. Subtle changes in a man or woman, (in my case man) that make them grow into a better person.
Less sex, more, love- mental- emotional interaction. So of course ‘Where’s the bloody sex?!’

Write what you love. Correct? I do. Indeed. And I sometimes wonder if expectations are lost similarly to when an artist is asked, ‘Hey, buddy, can ya make it blue to match my couch?’ Ask that question to a professional artist if you want to make them cringe. If a painter begins to paint so his pictures match your sofa, where has he gone creatively? Maybe he’s now an interior decorator, but his creative edge is lost.

I admit, my work spans the graph of sex, sex, sex, oh my god there’s more sex! to…where’s the beef?
I have tried my hand at straight romance, non-erotic romance, murder mystery, etc….and I know what my fans love- Men who come from a place in their heads and hearts that perhaps aren’t perfect and grow, learn to trust, to get over past abuse…and of course, to make love. Hot, passionate, love.

But none of my books will be your porridge precisely. And that is because of me, not you. You see, I write what I love, what I feel, and sometimes write what I have experienced that month, that year. Though my readers have expectations I always hope to achieve, maybe because I am slightly more diverse, you at times don’t get what you need. But I always try to sneak in a message. A social more. Love. Simply love.

I will forever be an advocate for tolerance and civil equality. You’ll have to shoot me to stop me from doing that. That is the message I will spout to my grave, and perhaps after.

I will always love to write books about gay men. Why? Because they turn me on! But Goldilocks had to keep tasting the porridge before she found one that was just right.

From shape-shifters, to vamps, from sluts, to shallow individuals, from jocks, to rough gods, to bikers and to twinks, cops, military men, firemen, lifeguards, cowboys… there is a story there in each one. Simply sit down and figure it out. Learn what it is because at times it will be subtle, and emotional. But in my collection there is something for everyone.

But remember if you are an author, don’t write all blue because it matches a couch. Write what you love, because you do it for you too. And if you are true to yourself, your readers will get it, they will get you. And isn’t that what this is all about?

Be safe out there-

Snapped

Bryce Hayes thought when he left the military and joined the Seattle Police Department, there would be nothing he couldn’t handle. He’d seen it all; the worst of what mankind could do to each other.

But the Seven Deadly Sins had yet to rear their ugly head. Bryce was about to encounter them all embodied in one man; Field Training Officer Kohl Abbott’s inconceivable corruption. As a thirty-nine year old ‘rookie’ paired with the senior officer from hell, Bryce had no idea when he was told to ‘stay put’ in the patrol car, that his training instructor Abbott was breaking fingers and kneecaps for protection money from the small local businesses.

While in the Special Forces, Bryce was taught to shut up, to not reveal information. But this time when the net came down on the corruption he was caught in the snare. Bryce was tossed out of the department with the garbage, but was not prosecuted. He never knew why.

Twenty-eight year old Joel Vandergrift lived on Capitol Hill in Seattle, worked as a photographer and taught literature classes at night. But his real love was writing. Having his first few novels hit the bestseller lists, Joel was gaining recognition and finally thought earning a living as a writer was a possibility… until his apartment is broken into, and his computer with all his work on it, is stolen.

A day later, Joel sees his latest bestseller being sold, but under someone else’s name.

The irony of just having met a bartender named Bryce Hayes, whose behavior was suspicious to Joel, made Joel believe Bryce had a hand in the treachery.

But Bryce knew the reality.

What at first had been an ultimatum for Bryce from Abbott to find something nasty to discredit Joel as a top writer, had changed. Secrets, lies, and disastrous decisions that were impossible to take back, push Joel and Bryce together. And it isn’t until one of the men finally has had enough that fate takes over.

SNAPPED!

Lust, Greed, Envy, Sloth, Pride, Wrath, Gluttony- The ‘Infamous 7’ change one man from a cynic into a killer. And Bryce sees first hand, how war is not only fought on the battlefield, it is also drawn from the mighty pen.

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Excerpt

Abbott had written a ‘tell all’ novel about his years as a dirty, nasty pig of a cop on the street, but he lied on his biography?

Bryce slouched in the chair of his small kitchen table, one with four chairs, simple and unadorned, and looked at the wooden cabinets as he thought about what he was learning.

Abbott’s whole image was based on a house of cards.

Bryce didn’t know much about the writing industry, but obviously, Abbott’s publisher, in order to soften the truth about the kind of nasty creature Abbott was, is, had created a background of complete fiction.

The irony was killing Bryce.

The novel was an accurate account of Abbott’s life as a cop on the take, but his bio? Pure fabricated nonsense to paint a portrait of a man with sympathy. Bryce knew the truth about Abbott. He should know. He was stuck in a fucking patrol car with the pig for a month during his first phase of FTO training, and got caught in the round up from the task force of crooked cops.

Bryce grew so enraged at the cheap shot at gaining sympathy from readers, he stood up from the table to stare out of the window at the street below. He had to calm down.

The thought of helping Abbott destroy a legitimate author in order to pump himself up? It brought the bile to rise in Bryce’s throat.

But…

Abbott held dirt on Bryce. Was Bryce as guilty as Abbott?

Bryce leaned on the window frame, watching the traffic on Lake City Way.

Guilty because he wasn’t a rat.

Guilty because he didn’t ‘beef’ another cop.

Guilty he had looked the other way.

His ‘omission’ of actions made Bryce feel as if he had committed the same crimes Abbott had.

His conscience was guilty, but his peers, his cop brothers, found him innocent in their own ‘judgment court’. That was why they frequented the bar, associated with him, and considered Bryce their friend.

Only Bryce knew he had made a deal with the devil. A demon named Kohl Abbott.

And when Kohl left for Portland? Bryce thought he had finally washed his hands of that filth. But perhaps the blood never does wash off.

Did he have a choice?

No. When they took his badge, Bryce had lost his choice.

Having not been convicted of a crime, Bryce did however, keep his concealed permit to carry a weapon. Most days he did not, being capable of fending off attacks without it.

As he stared at the street below, he thought about the young thugs attacking the woman. Five on one. How many men would be bold enough to stand up like that? Most would turn the other way, or hide in the shadows and call 911, which, in most cases was doing nothing.

No one knew better than he did how understaffed the police department was. And an emergency call, unless it was ‘help the officer?’ response time was usually too late.

Bryce looked at his open laptop and sat back down.

His intel; Abbott was a lying piece of shit, and he was on the hunt to take down an innocent victim.

Nothing changes.

Abbott never did.

~

Joel Maywood Vandergrift tapped keys at his computer.

In his apartment on Capitol Hill, the shrinking gay district of Seattle, he faced a window which overlooked Broadway Avenue and worked on his newest novel, Rock-it, Dear. The income for his first few books was slowly growing but he kept teaching classes to hold onto a steady income. No longer employed by the public school in Rainier Valley, Joel worked for an adult learning center three nights a week. Once the middle school found out Joel wrote gay romance, they politely asked him to resign, saying it wouldn’t ‘look good’ if the parents of his kids found out.

The staff knew he was gay, but now that he was writing about men making love? Well…

Joel didn’t want the headaches of any accusation of his behavior. He didn’t need to be branded a sexual deviant by the right-wing conservatives who expressed how timid they were as it was that an out ‘gasp!’ gay man was teaching English literature and grammar to their kids. He knew even if an allegation arose regarding his contact with the students, Joel could kiss both his teaching and writing career goodbye.

But Joel had one more interest that had become another source of income. Photography. He loved anything creative.

So his life was busy. What had become two hobbies, writing and picture taking, had now grown to potential careers.

With the outreach of the internet, Joel’s popularity had gained momentum, and seeing his first gay romance novel, top the prestigious charts of The Times? followed by two more he’d written within three months, he was stunned. As far as Joel knew, his books were the first gay romances to become number one best sellers in the mainstream newspaper. He was up there with the ‘big boys’ now. And he simply didn’t know how it had happened. He didn’t have an agent, or a publisher, merely publishing on his own under his umbrella company, Maywood, LLC which included his new photography company as well. And, that too, was growing.

Joel worked hard. Very hard. When he wasn’t teaching he was writing, or setting up photo shoots. He didn’t have an assistant to do all the extras for him. He did everything himself.

The men he photographed became his cover models. Another great buddy from his staff at the school in Rainier Valley? His editor. From then on, it was all him. Promoting, arranging book signings…finding handsome guys to pose for his work…and even selling his erotic photos to gay magazines, his beautiful male nudes.

Within three years, Joel had gone from scrounging and eating pasta and cupped instant soup, to being able to affording rent on a studio space in Ballard for his photography.

If people assumed part-time night school teachers made a lot of cash, they assumed wrong. Especially in an overinflated area of the country like Seattle, where rents and mortgages had hit the roof and seemed to be immune from the economic downturn.

He reached for his coffee mug and sipped it as he typed, on a roll, getting the words onto the page quickly. The coffee had gone cool, but it didn’t matter, he still drank it.

Working hard for three hours straight, Joel headed a new chapter and stood, stretching his back and giving his ass a break from sitting. He walked to his front window after putting his empty mug into the sink to see people bundled up in the drizzle of Seattle’s long, dark, wet winters. High suicide rates, depression, and the silly rumor that a child of ten could identify thirty shades of gray…that was Rain City.

He smiled. If you didn’t laugh, you’d cry.

His phone hummed. Joel picked it up off the kitchen counter to see it was a friend, Dion Snead. He answered. “Hello, babe!”

“Hey…am I catching you working…wait, don’t answer that. You are always working.”

Joel laughed and sat down again in front of his computer. “I was actually taking a mini break. What’s up?”

“Did you see the review someone posted on your book?”

“I don’t read them. Why?”

“Man, someone really hates your guts.”

Though it stung, Joel shrugged. “Whatever. You can’t please everyone.”

“No. I mean, they didn’t rate the novel. It was a personal assault.”

“Huh?” Joel saved his work and asked, “Where is it?”

“I’ll send you the link.”

“Okay.” Joel waited as Dion emailed it, then he opened it up. It was on one of the major distribution sites and recently posted. He could see his novel received one star, and that was why he never read reviews. There was no way you could be liked by everyone, and putting yourself out there had risks. Every Hollywood star, every recorded singer, every artist, had critics. It was the nature of the beast.

“Did you get it?” Dion asked.

“Yeah. Do I want to read it?” Joel didn’t.

“Read it.”

Sighing, Joel clicked on it and read, ‘This book is simply the worst piece of shit ever written by someone who shouldn’t even be allowed access to a computer keyboard, let alone a publisher. Maywood, LLC is desperate if they allow any monkey to put out this kind of trash. Sorry I bought it- Will never buy another book from this moron again!’

Joel was a little stunned. “Wow.”

“What an ass!” Dion sounded furious.

“Okay, look, forget it.”

“I clicked on the profile, ya know, for the reviewer’s ID and your book is the only one this shit head reviewed!”

“Dion. Calm down.” Joel could see his new book was still number one, and had around fifteen reviews, all reasonably favorable.

Goldilocks and the Three Books
Making it just right…

Any writer who enjoys their craft tries to mix enough mystery, action, emotion, suspense, and of course, depending on the genre, sex, into their novels. There are some readers who like it hot- like porn-

‘gimme more sex! No! I said more sex!! MORE!’

Others, quite the opposite.

‘…sheesh, there was nothing but sex in this book- no plot…just sex, sex, sex- BORING!’

Some readers prefer high drama. ‘Kill him!! Kidnap him! Beat the heck out of him! Oh come on! No one got hurt? THIS SUCKS!’

Of course the savvy writer, who writes for their readers alone- will carve a niche and stick there. Boldly they will announce, “I am a mystery writer! So all my books will be….mysterious!”

That’s what the big guys do. I mean you don’t pick up Stephen King and expect a lighthearted romantic comedy. Do you? Maybe he’s written them, don’t know. But if you want the shite scared out of you, he’s your man.

I suppose I fall into a niche at times. Niche soup? Yup, men loving men. You can be pretty certain of that in most of my work. But, men loving men…how? My Action! Series? Too much sex? Well, come now. It’s Mark and Steve- what do you expect?
But some of my less erotic novels are more about personal growth. Maturing. Learning to love, to trust. Subtle changes in a man or woman, (in my case man) that make them grow into a better person.
Less sex, more, love- mental- emotional interaction. So of course ‘Where’s the bloody sex?!’

Write what you love. Correct? I do. Indeed. And I sometimes wonder if expectations are lost similarly to when an artist is asked, ‘Hey, buddy, can ya make it blue to match my couch?’ Ask that question to a professional artist if you want to make them cringe. If a painter begins to paint so his pictures match your sofa, where has he gone creatively? Maybe he’s now an interior decorator, but his creative edge is lost.

I admit, my work spans the graph of sex, sex, sex, oh my god there’s more sex! to…where’s the beef?
I have tried my hand at straight romance, non-erotic romance, murder mystery, etc….and I know what my fans love- Men who come from a place in their heads and hearts that perhaps aren’t perfect and grow, learn to trust, to get over past abuse…and of course, to make love. Hot, passionate, love.

But none of my books will be your porridge precisely. And that is because of me, not you. You see, I write what I love, what I feel, and sometimes write what I have experienced that month, that year. Though my readers have expectations I always hope to achieve, maybe because I am slightly more diverse, you at times don’t get what you need. But I always try to sneak in a message. A social more. Love. Simply love.

I will forever be an advocate for tolerance and civil equality. You’ll have to shoot me to stop me from doing that. That is the message I will spout to my grave, and perhaps after.

I will always love to write books about gay men. Why? Because they turn me on! But Goldilocks had to keep tasting the porridge before she found one that was just right.

From shape-shifters, to vamps, from sluts, to shallow individuals, from jocks, to rough gods, to bikers and to twinks, cops, military men, firemen, lifeguards, cowboys… there is a story there in each one. Simply sit down and figure it out. Learn what it is because at times it will be subtle, and emotional. But in my collection there is something for everyone.

But remember if you are an author, don’t write all blue because it matches a couch. Write what you love, because you do it for you too. And if you are true to yourself, your readers will get it, they will get you. And isn’t that what this is all about?

Be safe out there-


Snapped

Bryce Hayes thought when he left the military and joined the Seattle Police Department, there would be nothing he couldn’t handle. He’d seen it all; the worst of what mankind could do to each other.

But the Seven Deadly Sins had yet to rear their ugly head. Bryce was about to encounter them all embodied in one man; Field Training Officer Kohl Abbott’s inconceivable corruption. As a thirty-nine year old ‘rookie’ paired with the senior officer from hell, Bryce had no idea when he was told to ‘stay put’ in the patrol car, that his training instructor Abbott was breaking fingers and kneecaps for protection money from the small local businesses.

While in the Special Forces, Bryce was taught to shut up, to not reveal information. But this time when the net came down on the corruption he was caught in the snare. Bryce was tossed out of the department with the garbage, but was not prosecuted. He never knew why.

Twenty-eight year old Joel Vandergrift lived on Capitol Hill in Seattle, worked as a photographer and taught literature classes at night. But his real love was writing. Having his first few novels hit the bestseller lists, Joel was gaining recognition and finally thought earning a living as a writer was a possibility… until his apartment is broken into, and his computer with all his work on it, is stolen.

A day later, Joel sees his latest bestseller being sold, but under someone else’s name.

The irony of just having met a bartender named Bryce Hayes, whose behavior was suspicious to Joel, made Joel believe Bryce had a hand in the treachery.

But Bryce knew the reality.

What at first had been an ultimatum for Bryce from Abbott to find something nasty to discredit Joel as a top writer, had changed. Secrets, lies, and disastrous decisions that were impossible to take back, push Joel and Bryce together. And it isn’t until one of the men finally has had enough that fate takes over.

SNAPPED!

Lust, Greed, Envy, Sloth, Pride, Wrath, Gluttony- The ‘Infamous 7’ change one man from a cynic into a killer. And Bryce sees first hand, how war is not only fought on the battlefield, it is also drawn from the mighty pen.


Excerpt from Snapped:

Abbott had written a ‘tell all’ novel about his years as a dirty, nasty pig of a cop on the street, but he lied on his biography?

Bryce slouched in the chair of his small kitchen table, one with four chairs, simple and unadorned, and looked at the wooden cabinets as he thought about what he was learning.

Abbott’s whole image was based on a house of cards.

Bryce didn’t know much about the writing industry, but obviously, Abbott’s publisher, in order to soften the truth about the kind of nasty creature Abbott was, is, had created a background of complete fiction.

The irony was killing Bryce.

The novel was an accurate account of Abbott’s life as a cop on the take, but his bio? Pure fabricated nonsense to paint a portrait of a man with sympathy. Bryce knew the truth about Abbott. He should know. He was stuck in a fucking patrol car with the pig for a month during his first phase of FTO training, and got caught in the round up from the task force of crooked cops.

Bryce grew so enraged at the cheap shot at gaining sympathy from readers, he stood up from the table to stare out of the window at the street below. He had to calm down.

The thought of helping Abbott destroy a legitimate author in order to pump himself up? It brought the bile to rise in Bryce’s throat.

But…

Abbott held dirt on Bryce. Was Bryce as guilty as Abbott?

Bryce leaned on the window frame, watching the traffic on Lake City Way.

Guilty because he wasn’t a rat.

Guilty because he didn’t ‘beef’ another cop.

Guilty he had looked the other way.

His ‘omission’ of actions made Bryce feel as if he had committed the same crimes Abbott had.

His conscience was guilty, but his peers, his cop brothers, found him innocent in their own ‘judgment court’. That was why they frequented the bar, associated with him, and considered Bryce their friend.

Only Bryce knew he had made a deal with the devil. A demon named Kohl Abbott.

And when Kohl left for Portland? Bryce thought he had finally washed his hands of that filth. But perhaps the blood never does wash off.

Did he have a choice?

No. When they took his badge, Bryce had lost his choice.

Having not been convicted of a crime, Bryce did however, keep his concealed permit to carry a weapon. Most days he did not, being capable of fending off attacks without it.

As he stared at the street below, he thought about the young thugs attacking the woman. Five on one. How many men would be bold enough to stand up like that? Most would turn the other way, or hide in the shadows and call 911, which, in most cases was doing nothing.

No one knew better than he did how understaffed the police department was. And an emergency call, unless it was ‘help the officer?’ response time was usually too late.

Bryce looked at his open laptop and sat back down.

His intel; Abbott was a lying piece of shit, and he was on the hunt to take down an innocent victim.

Nothing changes.

Abbott never did.

~

Joel Maywood Vandergrift tapped keys at his computer.

In his apartment on Capitol Hill, the shrinking gay district of Seattle, he faced a window which overlooked Broadway Avenue and worked on his newest novel, Rock-it, Dear. The income for his first few books was slowly growing but he kept teaching classes to hold onto a steady income. No longer employed by the public school in Rainier Valley, Joel worked for an adult learning center three nights a week. Once the middle school found out Joel wrote gay romance, they politely asked him to resign, saying it wouldn’t ‘look good’ if the parents of his kids found out.

The staff knew he was gay, but now that he was writing about men making love? Well…

Joel didn’t want the headaches of any accusation of his behavior. He didn’t need to be branded a sexual deviant by the right-wing conservatives who expressed how timid they were as it was that an out ‘gasp!’ gay man was teaching English literature and grammar to their kids. He knew even if an allegation arose regarding his contact with the students, Joel could kiss both his teaching and writing career goodbye.

But Joel had one more interest that had become another source of income. Photography. He loved anything creative.

So his life was busy. What had become two hobbies, writing and picture taking, had now grown to potential careers.

With the outreach of the internet, Joel’s popularity had gained momentum, and seeing his first gay romance novel, top the prestigious charts of The Times? followed by two more he’d written within three months, he was stunned. As far as Joel knew, his books were the first gay romances to become number one best sellers in the mainstream newspaper. He was up there with the ‘big boys’ now. And he simply didn’t know how it had happened. He didn’t have an agent, or a publisher, merely publishing on his own under his umbrella company, Maywood, LLC which included his new photography company as well. And, that too, was growing.

Joel worked hard. Very hard. When he wasn’t teaching he was writing, or setting up photo shoots. He didn’t have an assistant to do all the extras for him. He did everything himself.

The men he photographed became his cover models. Another great buddy from his staff at the school in Rainier Valley? His editor. From then on, it was all him. Promoting, arranging book signings…finding handsome guys to pose for his work…and even selling his erotic photos to gay magazines, his beautiful male nudes.

Within three years, Joel had gone from scrounging and eating pasta and cupped instant soup, to being able to affording rent on a studio space in Ballard for his photography.

If people assumed part-time night school teachers made a lot of cash, they assumed wrong. Especially in an overinflated area of the country like Seattle, where rents and mortgages had hit the roof and seemed to be immune from the economic downturn.

He reached for his coffee mug and sipped it as he typed, on a roll, getting the words onto the page quickly. The coffee had gone cool, but it didn’t matter, he still drank it.

Working hard for three hours straight, Joel headed a new chapter and stood, stretching his back and giving his ass a break from sitting. He walked to his front window after putting his empty mug into the sink to see people bundled up in the drizzle of Seattle’s long, dark, wet winters. High suicide rates, depression, and the silly rumor that a child of ten could identify thirty shades of gray…that was Rain City.

He smiled. If you didn’t laugh, you’d cry.

His phone hummed. Joel picked it up off the kitchen counter to see it was a friend, Dion Snead. He answered. “Hello, babe!”

“Hey…am I catching you working…wait, don’t answer that. You are always working.”

Joel laughed and sat down again in front of his computer. “I was actually taking a mini break. What’s up?”

“Did you see the review someone posted on your book?”

“I don’t read them. Why?”

“Man, someone really hates your guts.”

Though it stung, Joel shrugged. “Whatever. You can’t please everyone.”

“No. I mean, they didn’t rate the novel. It was a personal assault.”

“Huh?” Joel saved his work and asked, “Where is it?”

“I’ll send you the link.”

“Okay.” Joel waited as Dion emailed it, then he opened it up. It was on one of the major distribution sites and recently posted. He could see his novel received one star, and that was why he never read reviews. There was no way you could be liked by everyone, and putting yourself out there had risks. Every Hollywood star, every recorded singer, every artist, had critics. It was the nature of the beast.

“Did you get it?” Dion asked.

“Yeah. Do I want to read it?” Joel didn’t.

“Read it.”

Sighing, Joel clicked on it and read, ‘This book is simply the worst piece of shit ever written by someone who shouldn’t even be allowed access to a computer keyboard, let alone a publisher. Maywood, LLC is desperate if they allow any monkey to put out this kind of trash. Sorry I bought it- Will never buy another book from this moron again!’

Joel was a little stunned. “Wow.”

“What an ass!” Dion sounded furious.

“Okay, look, forget it.”

“I clicked on the profile, ya know, for the reviewer’s ID and your book is the only one this shit head reviewed!”

“Dion. Calm down.” Joel could see his new book was still number one, and had around fifteen reviews, all reasonably favorable.

Copyright © 2014 G. A. Hauser. All rights reserved.


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5 Comments

  1. Trix says:

    Erotic and literary preferences are so subjective that it’s best to follow your heart!

  2. H.B. says:

    Great post. I don’t think it’s necessary for a author to just limit themselves to one area of writing. It’s always fun to give yourself some creative room and breathe.

    humhumbum AT yahoo DOT com

  3. Bianka says:

    I have this book and the movie Capital Games and like both very much. G.A. Hauser is a great writer and filmmaker. I would love it soooo much to win one of the calendars. I’m a huge fan of G.A. Hauser.

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