Sunday, April 05, 2009

WhoHub Interview

Lily Strange [lilystrange]
WRITING
What did you first read? How did you begin to write? Who were the first to read what you wrote?
I'm not sure how far back I should go with this, but as a very young child I was kind of precocious with reading. Not so with math, but that's a different story. The very first books that I actually learned to read were Dr. Seuss books at the age of four. That may not be particularly unusual, but I think that the fact that I started reading Edgar Allan Poe when I was six--and liked it, even though it sometimes gave me nightmares--might be a bit indicative of what inspired my enjoyment of the horror genre. My father was a professor of literature and this might somewhat explain my early reading habits. My first grade teacher was also very impressed with my writing and always encouraged me. She would ask me to help my classmates who were just learning to read and write.

What is your favorite genre? Can you provide a link to a site where we can read some of your work or learn something about it?
I actually like almost all genres, although its rare that I read romance. As for writing, I tend to prefer working with horror or comedy. The official website showcasing my published novel is http://www.lilystrange.com To read chapter samples, the best place is probably my E-Snips folder at http://www.esnips.com//web/MyChapters/ I do have a blog that is ostensibly for promoting the book, but it can wander off the beaten path and be more than a bit disorganized. However, should anyone wish to view it, they can find it at http://lostbeneaththesurface.blogspot.com

What is your creative process like? What happens before sitting down to write?
This probably isn't very helpful, but my creative process simply involves me saying "damn it all, I'm going to write now." My life is pretty chaotic and a fair bit busier than I'd like a lot of the time. I don't know how much this has to do with my being prematurely gray, but I'll go ahead and blame it on this.

What type of reading inspires you to write?
The classic horror novelists, such as Poe, Bierce, Lovecraft, and those works by Kipling that most people don't think of, but especially Stephen King. I've always appreciated the way he tells a story as if he was sitting down and telling his good friend all about the horrific experience that he had or witnessed. There is no arrogance with King's work. I've always tried to achieve that in my own writing, but can't be sure how well I've succeeded.

What do you think are the basic ingredients of a story?
The setting is important, the plot is important, but the characters make the story happen. Without interesting characters, a story remains only an intricate outline.

What voice do you find most to your liking: first person or third person?
It really depends on the story. I don't have a favorite between these.

What well known writers do you admire most?
Of the classic authors, I got to know Edgar Allan Poe when I was only six years old and have been a great fan of his work since that time. H.P. Lovecraft is the king of atmosphere, and I consider it a terrible shame that most people only know Ambrose Bierce for "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge." This is a fine tale, but many of his others are equally good if not better and deserve to be read and enjoyed and in fact learned from in many cases. I also enjoy the works of Christina Rossetti. I was inspired by her poem, "The Goblin Market," at a very young age. Sadly, I know less about Rossetti's life than I would like to. I do, however, know that Poe, Bierce, and Lovecraft all dealt with adversity in their lifetimes and I admire them for perservering in their craft in spite of the strikes against them. Poe, of course, suffered from severe depression. Bierce was a veteran of the Civil War, and his experiences inspired much of his work. Lovecraft was a sickly child and suffered from depression as well. Of contemporary writers, Stephen King has been my favorite for years, but there are others that I admire the works of. I enjoy Dean Koontz and Brian Lumley. I work in the health care field and thus have a fondness for Robin Cook's medical thrillers. And though this is a bit of a guilty pleasure, I enjoy the V.C. Andrews books. Melodrama and purple prose aren't all bad!

What is required for a character to be believable? How do you create yours?
A believable character has flaws. The only seemingly flawless characters that I have ever created are used in comedic writing and tend to be the butt of jokes. A character may just come to me out of nowhere, but often I am inspired by looking at photographs. It is less the physical appearance of the subjects of the photographs that inspires me than an attitude or emotion that may be expressed. Most of my major characters were inspired by real people, though it is rare that the person who initially inspired the finished character will be recognizable in that character. Beyond the primary inspiration, I let the character create him/herself.

Are you equally good at telling stories orally?
No. I stumble over my words and make a fool of myself. I'm much better in writing than I am in person. Though if I know my audience and am comfortable with them, I tend to be able to present them with my ideas better than I would with an audience of strangers.

Deep down inside, who do you write for?
Myself, I suppose. More specifically, for my younger self who had such big dreams. Although my works tend to be morality plays of sorts, and it is my hope that I can impart my message to my readers and thus somehow make a positive change in the world. I hope that doesn't sound tremendously arrogant.

Is writing a form of personal therapy? Are internal conflicts a creative force?
It is absolutely a form of personal therapy. When I was younger I used it to soothe the pain of being bullied at school. I resumed writing again after a number of years when my marriage started breaking up. I don't really end up incorporating stuff that happens in my life at this point because it's just too boring. I more tend to go back to ideas that I had previously and expand on them.

Does reader feed-back help you?
I actually tend to avoid reading reviews. The ones that I have read have been mostly positive and the negative points were voiced in a constructive way, so they were helpful. However, I am so sensitive to mean types of criticism that I could have ten good reviews, and if the eleventh were absolutely scathing, it would upset me for a month or more literally. So I do find constructive criticism helpful, but I am so very fearful of encountering the other kind that I tend not to seek feedback. This is probably a lousy attitude to have, but it's self-preservation.
Do you participate in competitions? Have you received any awards?
I generally do not participate in competitions and the only award I've received is the "Well You Finally Published it, A-Hole" award that I gave myself back in 2007. For whatever reason I did sign up to participate in NaNoWriMo this year. Because the material that I publish professionally is horror, the manuscript that I work on for them will be comedy. I don't really believe you can compete against anyone but yourself in the arts. Everyone's tastes are different. What one person enjoys another may despise. I don't have any need to be better than other people, just better than I was the last time.

Do you share rough drafts of your writings with someone whose opinion you trust?
This will sound strange, but my ex-husband is my editor and I do trust him to be an objective critic. I share them with him.

Do you believe you have already found "your voice" or is that something one is always searching for?
I think I've found it. If I haven't, I'll delude myself that I have. I'm old and tired. I don't have it in me to keep searching.

What discipline do you impose on yourself regarding schedules, goals, etc.?
I try to write at least one chapter a day at least four times a week. My "real life" schedule doesn't allow me to sit down and write for 12 hours at a go these days. I have to take it where I can get it.

What do you surround yourself with in your work area in order to help your concentrate?
Sorry, but I could die laughing at this question. I'm broke. My work area is the same dilapidated couch that I sleep on. I'm usually surrounded by cats. The walls in the ole trailer are thin and I always hear noise from outside. I have type II bipolar disorder, so concentration and me are something of polar opposites anyway. But if I have an idea and I get working on it, like Larry the Cable Guy said, I just Git 'R Done.

Do you write on a computer? Do you print frequently? Do you correct on paper? What is your process?
When I was younger I insisted that I would NEVER EVER EVER!!!!!!! work on a computer. Now its the only way that I do anything except jot down ideas. Things change. My process is to grab the laptop, put it on my lap, and Git R Done!

What sites do you frequent on-line to share experiences or information?
I have some blog friends. I also sound off (translate: rant) at my blogs, Creative Crabbing (http://amoeboidfungus.blogspot.com) and Lost Beneath the Surface (http://lostbeneaththesurface.blogspot.com) Other than that, I lurk about on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/people/Lily-Strange/1653291128 (...) ) and occasionally MySpace (http://www.myspace.com/bloomingpsycho)

What has been your experience with publishers?
They suck! That's mostly a joke, but seriously, I'm not the sort to paper my wall with rejection slips. I'm too old. I used a POD publisher, Outskirts Press. (http://theminiurl.com/ed50) I will be using them again for my forthcoming book.

What are you working on now?
The prequel to my current novel, Lost Beneath the Surface.

What do you recommend I do with all those things I wrote years ago but have never been able to bring myself to show anyone?
Whip 'em out and start working on them again! You never know--they could mushroom from a boring two-dimensional gothic romance into a previously unknown and utterly terrifying thing that has a life of its own... Well, that's what happened to mine, anyway. Seriously, get them out and look them over. Show someone you trust. Some of them may be fine the way they are. Others you might be able to work into something else. And then publish them. Life's too short to worry about who might think your work isn't "good enough." You have something to say, so say it. Life would be boring if only a certain kind of voice was ever heard.

Saturday, April 04, 2009

Signs of the Apocalypse

This discussion, found on My Yearbook, lets me know the end (at least the end of sense) is nigh.

two of the most famous authors of today.
Steven King and Stephanie Meyer.
I, myself have read some of both their books, and honestly, i like them both.
King's books are more sophisticated, but can be confusing/hard to read.
Meyer's books are easy, romantic (some of King's are too), and capture you away in her story.
so i wanna see who the public (of myyearbook) think of these two. so who do you like better and why? just leave me a post and lets chat.
:D!

Comments:(5) ViewAll | Post Comment
April 4, 3:57 PM
Meyer is pretty good, but she's not even in the same arena as King. King is a literary genius.... (more)
April 4, 3:32 PM
right.
sometimes in King's books i get confused with the way he writes, but he's still amazin.
April 4, 3:31 PM
I like both but to me it's easier for my imagination run wild with Meyer's books

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

crabbing

just posted "Jesus Hates Zombies/Lincoln Hates Werewolves Second Printing" :

http://ping.fm/QeRKu

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Sunday, March 15, 2009

My Klingon Fan Base

http://www.google.com/search

Klingons love me! Check it out--I've got all the top spots on Klingon Google!

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crabbing

http://ping.fm/i5mrU

I will be in the Haunted Outhouse for the next hour if anyone cares to join me.

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Saturday, March 14, 2009

crabbing

http://ping.fm/i5mrU Chat room for open minded types interested in the paranormal. Open 1hr tomorrow 6 PM MST.

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Saturday, February 28, 2009

Section 1: Just Below the Surface

http://www.lilystrange.com/

Giving you another chapter from Section 1 of my book today. Why? Because I like you or something.



Just Below The Surface

July 13, 2009

Balthor, Ontario

Aldon Quay shuddered as he read the beautiful, eerie poem sent to him by his longtime friend and fellow author, Terry Bruckham. Terry was like a daughter to Aldon, and “Beneath the Surface” seemed an apt title for her as well as her latest creation. There was always something unspoken beneath the facade that Terry presented for the world. Aldon had known Terry since the time that she, at age 14, had written the then thirty-year-old author a letter praising his debut novel, Nightshade. He was impressed with his young fan’s intelligence and genteel yet forthcoming manner, and the pair had forged a friendship that had lasted a lifetime. Terry and Aldon both were now well-known novelists and, in 2007, they finally released their first collaboration to the delight of their readers, who thought that it was many years overdue.

Terry had always been prone to melancholy and had suffered several debilitating traumas over the years. Aldon hoped that things had settled down and that his friend could at last be happy and at peace. Aldon thought about Terry’s engagement to his second cousin, Elvin Barris. Both Elvin and Terry had previously endured long, unhappy marriages. It was good, Aldon thought, that two of his favorite people seemed to be making one another happy. But obviously, not everything was what it seemed.

In the email that the poem was attached to, Terry said she had an idea for a story. It would be a gothic romance interspersed with poetry accentuating the protagonist’s dark emotions. Terry thought that this poem should be the starting point. It certainly would work well in such a tale, Aldon agreed. It wasn’t the dark atmosphere of the poem that concerned him. He too usually wrote dark subject matter, though he was actually a reasonably happy fellow. A big bear of a man with dark red-brown hair liberally frosted with gray, Aldon sported a full beard and tended to favor checkered flannel shirts and jeans. He looked like a member of the logging crews that worked up the road from his farm and was far more jovial in manner than would seem to befit a famous horror novelist. But it wasn’t Aldon’s waking self who was inspired by sepulchral visions of rotting creatures who refused to die or malevolent spirits who destroyed the lives of those who accidentally invaded their territory. Rather, the visions came to the self who journeyed behind the walls of sleep and communed with the Gods and Goddesses and benevolent spirits who roamed the Elysian Fields and the gardens of Celephais and who gathered in Thoth’s library and Freya’s palace for grand festivals and intellectual discussions. For, in order to partake in such blessed events, one must also be prepared to defend against those who would bring ruin in a desire to subjugate all beings to their whim. Aldon’s gifts allowed him to see things that ordinary people could not perceive. And, he realized, most people would think him mad if he presented such things as real. Terry had inherited the same gifts. Like Howard Phillips Lovecraft and Ambrose Bierce before them, Aldon Quay and Terry Bruckham hid their real otherworldly adventures in the guise of fictional works.

“The truth is there for those aware” was a catch-phrase popularized in a series of light-hearted novels about a trio of reluctant Scandinavian monster-hunters, thinly disguised versions of three of Aldon’s real-life friends who also knew that not everything real was visible to the physical eye.

“’T’ain’t logical, McGee,” Aldon said quietly, exaggerating his slight Irish brogue. “But methinks perhaps logic be overrated.”

“Ah hell, Terry,” he sighed, switching the telephone nervously from hand to hand as he contemplated calling his friend. “How can I address my concerns about this to you without seeming callous about your feelings? Please, Angela Mia, don’t let this pain rip you apart. Heaven help me, what do I say to her?”

“Aldon?” his sister-in-law’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“What is it, Hannah?” Aldon asked.

“Aldy, I’m so sorry to interrupt you,” she said. “But something awful is happening to my sheep. All of the lambs have fallen ill. It may be anthrax. Dr. Kippersoff and Will Wyzynski are quarantining them from the other animals. They want to test all my livestock and it could take them awhile. I know it’s been years since you took those veterinary courses, but I wonder if you could come help. They really have their hands full.”

“Sure, Hannah, I’ll be right there,” Aldon said, putting the phone back in its cradle. He scribbled himself a note which he understood completely but which anyone else might find cryptic and eerie:

Call Terry re: poem.

Have the dark dreams returned?

Aldon followed Hannah up the stairs, his worries about his friend temporarily pushed below the surface of this current concern.

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Talk about an odd auction

Asian Beauty Lily’s  Two Horror Books starting bid $3,000,000.00 dollars?



WHAT?  Is this for real?  Apparently it is and both auctions will end on May 30th.  The winning bidders will secure the rights to the books.    It seems like a scam but apparently she is trying to sell off details from her relationships with 2 well [...] <a href='http://cli.gs/vQ5G2a'>http://cli.gs/vQ5G2a</a>

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blue star, green comet

utterli-image

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Friday, February 27, 2009

crabbing

I fear I may have to put working on the new book on hiatus for a month while finishing this semester. I am feeling like death warmed over.

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Poem: Lost Beneath the Surface

This is the lead-in poem for Section 1 in my published novel. It is ostensibly written by my protagonist.

http://www.lilystrange.com/



The One Who Waits Beneath the Surface



I hate the moon—I am afraid of it—for when it shines on certain scenes familiar and loved it sometimes makes them unfamiliar and hideous.

H.P. Lovecraft

“What the Moon Brings”



Beneath the Surface

Forgotten over the years

Pushed to the back of minds weighed down with mundane concerns

He waits in solitude for the day

When someone may remember, and keep him company



A chill wind blows from the north

Reminding one who lives along the shore

Of someone she held dear in time long past

Yet the thought is more a whisper than a shout



He feels the pain of being a promise broken

Yet still he abides behind the veil

A soul immortal cannot die

But can be buried by the wretchedness of anguish borne alone



He looks down upon the sea below his vantage point

And longs to be free of his boundless solitude

He extends his arms, and falling forward from the height, joins the sea birds in their flight

Twisting, wheeling, unafraid



The soul immortal cannot die

He touches surf and is drawn beneath the waves

The sun reflects off the surface of the water,

Revealing a dark, familiar shape below



Along another shore in a world far away

A woman feels a pang within her breast

She is weary and wishes she could sleep forever

And walk the shores of an eternal dream



Something lies beneath the surface of her memories

A treasure that she lost long ago

Someone who understood the unflagging sorrow

A breath inhaled and exhaled, lost forever



She will reach beyond the veil this night

And take the hand of the one who waits

Forgotten to the conscious mind that buries dreams beneath stacks of unpaid bills

Burdened by joys thrust aside in favor of unending toil



Some things cannot be explained away by logic

Tested away by science, prayed away by dogmatic religion

She has labored long and hard for futile gain

Happiness has waited long enough



Tonight she shall sail away to join the one who waits beneath the waves

To dwell on shadowed shores where the blinding light of the orthodoxy never reaches

She is weary of a world wherein to survive she must forget what she holds most dear

Tonight is her last night among the striving masses



Tonight at last he rises from the sea

To dwell forever in the shadows of a land

Created by the dark dreams of souls misunderstood

Never again shall he abide alone

For at last he has someone to dream with



Teresa Kathleen Bruckham

July 12, 2009

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Wednesday, February 25, 2009

crabbing

http://ping.fm/XxpS1 Latest Care2 Share describes my mission and gives links to ways you can help make it a reality

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crabbing

www.change.org/myfundraising/wfmhchange My drive to raise $500 for WFMH by the end of the year.

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Imooch

http://ad.vu/q2tb Check out my Mooch, another way to pimp the book, and find out about Imooch, a way to pimp your own work.

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crabbing

http://ping.fm/3fKnW Got something interesting and informative to say? Trade your intelligence for back links at Qassia!

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crabbing

http://ping.fm/8uQ5a

Poem from Section 1 featured at Quarterlife.

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crabbing

I don't know how they do it, but http://ping.fm/5usoP offers lots of online storage space, free. Back up your critical files.

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What Goes Around Comes Around

Moonlit Path gave me a reciprocal link so I'm spreading the love. Check them out! http://www.moonlit-path.com/

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Wendy's Writing article

http://www.squidoo.com/…tdidntwork

Check out the article and my responses.

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Monday, February 16, 2009

Prologue

http://www.lilystrange.com/

Prologue

Bringers of Decay and Fallen Angels:

A Genesis of Evil

Before the dawn of the world as we know it, the great Gods and Goddesses, angelic beings, devas, genii and nature spirits were born whole from the Wellspring of All, which is called Kether. They were created out of love to always tend and care for the beings who would be born on the developing worlds in the material universe. Yet while the Heavens were still taking shape, a group of these spirits began to believe that they knew more than the power that had created them. And some among the Gods and Goddesses came to care more about power than about the developing Universe over which they had been given stewardship. These wicked deities were cast out of the Heavens and the evil angels who followed them were also exiled. Swearing revenge on those who had spurned them, they began to seduce the minds of the developing children of the Universe that had been created out of love by the Lord and Lady of Kether.

On the developing worlds in the material universe which is called Assiah, many of the children began to assume a crude imitation of the higher beings who watched over them. Most followed the path of the Benevolent Ones who had created and guided them. But some followed the blighted path of those who promised power over others. These were filled with an unholy passion. Seeing the intensity of their emotions, the evil angels were intrigued. Some of them entered the bodies of these young beings, possessing them, controlling them. And over time, many of the fallen angels forgot that they had once been celestial beings, but subconsciously remembered the power they once held and their former immortality. Desperate to re-achieve that once immortal status and break free from the cycle of reincarnation, they heeded the voices of their former companions, the unholy deities of corruption and decay. The Fallen committed horrific acts under the direction of their immortal, unholy masters, giving rise to a race of Undead, a perverted offspring of incarnate mortals and fallen angels and a mockery of the Divine. Thus have vampires existed since the dawn of humanity. The first are rumored to have come from the lost continent of Lemuria, which formed a land bridge between the Malay Archepelago and Asia some 55 million years ago. The late medium Madame Helena Blavatsky spoke of a race of highly intelligent apelike humanoids who were capable of mind control and telepathy. Most people laugh at Blavatsky’s assertions; but there are those who know better.

In the time of Lemuria, a group of these beings sought to dominate the other early humanoids, believing themselves to be superior. They saw the other humans as lower than herd animals and treated them with a contempt and brutality. Inspired by the telepathic communications from hideous ancient gods mercifully forgotten in this modern age, the Superior Race enslaved and experimented on the lesser beings, sacrificed them, and consumed their flesh at ritual celebrations. They were especially fond of eating the brain and heart and drinking the blood, as they believed consuming the brain would enhance their own telepathic abilities, the heart would bring them strength, and the blood would lengthen their lives. As the dreaded ancient Gods, horrible beings far older than the earth itself promised, the Superior Race changed swiftly. From consuming the brains of the other humanoids and ancient dolphin-like sea mammals, their telepathic abilities increased tenfold. From consuming animals such as the wolflike creatures that walked the night they experienced improvement in their night vision so drastic that daylight began to hurt their eyes and they preferred to be out after dusk. And from consuming these wolf-kind and other strong animals, their strength multiplied to ten times that of the lesser hominids. For their obedience to the terrible Great Old Ones, their lifespan increased to the point of virtual immortality. Thus were the Vampires born.

The benevolent deities were horrified by what was happening on the young Earth. They smote the evil race, destroying the continent of Lemuria to stop their spread. But some Night Stalkers managed to escape. They slowly spread their taint wherever they settled, though their race no longer held the mastery it had in Lemuria. The survivors vowed to regain mastery of the Earth even if it should take an eternity. This is the story of a pair of these immortals and those whose lives they touched. They were brothers, princes and heirs to the throne of a long and unjustly forgotten kingdom, a province in what is now Romania at the time of the reign of the family Dracul in Wallachia. Called Stracha, it sat by the sea near Moldavia and Wallachia and was a place hailed for its beauty, prosperity and the benevolence of its rulers. It is also the tale of an ancient and fearsome being who brought the plague of immortality to these princes, casting fair Stracha into undeserved oblivion. Long-lived though this being was, he was a mere babe compared to those who had bestowed upon him the curse of immortality, and they were but infants compared to the ancient undying evil that had spurred their creation.

The vampire race was perfected as the human race evolved and new civilizations arose. Beloved were they of the powerful but lesser-known malevolent deities warned of by Howard Phillips Lovecraft and others in tales thought to be fiction. Kali, merciless Indian goddess of death, helped increase the power of those who made sacrifices to her. In Egypt, the cunning and manipulative Set took up their cause. In Mesopotamia the cult rose to power again when Lamashtu gave them newfound glory through blood sacrifice. But this rise to greatness truly began anew in lost Atlantis where the race almost achieved world domination. This is why the benevolent Gods had to destroy Atlantis as they had Lemuria. Many lives were lost on that fateful day, many who loved one another were separated.

But the wheel of reincarnation shall ever turn. None of those souls that lived in lost Atlantis were destroyed in that calamity. With successive incarnations the calamity that ended their physical existence in that lifetime was consciously forgotten. But late at night many lifetimes later the more enlightened of them would dream of that fearsome event and would wake in a cold sweat.

This book occurs near the end of a story of a great battle for the souls of this world. This is a story of love and loss, of triumph and destruction, and of the knowledge that nothing in this world will last forever. It is a story of the fear of death, the pain of betrayal and the triumph of the eternal soul. It is a story of ties that cannot be severed, kindnesses that cannot be forgotten, longing that cannot die. But souls are not of this world. They shall never die. Within each soul is a limitless capacity for love. Each being was created with love by a benevolent source. The love within us can never die. The soul is eternal and love is eternal.

This is, if you will, a love story.

Thoth, Scribe of the Holy

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