Grace and Learning (and The Devil’s Reach)

I really like learning the craft of graphic design. I set out to teach myself a few years ago, largely so that I could develop more autonomy in game publishing. I’ve had spots of mentorship here and there (thanks, Brad Murray, for sending me that book and walking me through my early crises), but I’ve also spent lots of time clumping through the wilderness.

I’ve come to a conclusion about learning. It’s a messy, sloppy process. Furthermore, it’s supposed to be a messy, sloppy process. And learning graphic design is a weird nut in particular, because you’re designing messy, sloppy products. That’s tricky, because people judge products on their degree of coordination and polish. Good products aren’t messy and sloppy, right? This is especially important when your goal is to create products that you intend to sell.

I suppose one solution is to start by designing things that never see the light of day, unlovable children that you keep hidden in the basement of your hard drive. I am not excited about that solution. I want a solution where knowledge and learning are badges of honour, things you can show people while giddily exclaiming, “Look what I can do!” Another solution is to accept your limits and release messy, sloppy products until your craft improves. But that doesn’t sound like an ideal solution either – the world is regrettably full of messy, sloppy products.

An ideal solution would let you proudly demonstrate your learning at every stage, while creating graceful and polished products throughout.

That’s why I’m so excited to be working with Josh Mannon on Within the Devil’s Reach, and the first installment of the Gears of the Worm God adventure series. See, it goes like this: Josh wants to release a series of slick, high-quality adventure books for Dungeon World. The first one is on Kickstarter right now (with 48 hours to go), and he’s angling for a mid-August release on the resulting book. He wants to develop his graphic design skills and practice them along the way, but also recognizes that taking on the layout for the entire Gears of the Worm God series might be overwhelming and not leave him enough of a timeline to develop his craft with confidence.

So, Within the Devil’s Reach will bear the credit line “Layout by Joe Mcdaldno.” I’ll be developing the visual stamp of the Worm God series, and doing all the layout for book number one. I’ll be documenting my process for Josh, creating a sort of play-by-play report of what I did and why I did it. With the second book, I’ll be mentoring Josh on parts of the layout process and asking him to take on some responsibilities. By book three, that credit line will read “Layout by Josh Mannon and Joe Mcdaldno.” By book five, it’s our goal to have the credit line read “Layout by Josh Mannon, with initial consulting by Joe Mcdaldno” or even a simple “Layout by Josh Mannon.”

With each subsequent book, Josh will have new things to point to and say, “See? I did that.” He’ll be able to proudly demonstrate his learning. And it’ll exist within a graceful and polished product. My goal will be to render myself unnecessary, while ensuring that the Gears of the Worm God series looks as awesome as possible at every step of the way.

The Joy of Hacking

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In days past, I didn’t really “get” the appeal of hacking existing games. (A tentative definition of hacking, for anyone who doesn’t already know the term: taking an existing game system and modifying it until it’s a new game.) I thought that it was lazy design that produced incoherent results.

While I still believe that hacking has some big wide pitfalls to avoid, I have seen the light. Hacking is a liberating and accessible design process. It allows people to create based upon their strengths instead of their needs. It lets designers dialogue with one another, and stand on one another’s shoulders. It creates diy communities instead of diy lighthouses. I’m going to unpack each of those statements, and then relate it back to Monsterhearts, my hack of Apocalypse World that tells teen monster drama stories. The post is going to end with a preview of Monsterhearts, if you want to skip the big unpacking.

Hacking Has Some Big Wide Pitfalls to Avoid

Games are designed to accomplish certain things – to create a specific type of story, to have a specific impact on players, to support specific tactics or approaches. And the tricky thing is that not all of those goals are going to be listed on the outside of the tin. When you hack a game, you risk removing the critical element that makes the game fun and magical. The best practice here is that if you’re going to hack, you must do so in a critical and self-examined way. When designing systems from scratch, you need to spend lots of energy making the system do what you want it to do. When designing systems by hacking, you need to spend lots of energy learning why a system does things the way it does them.

I think that it’s only in the past 10 years that people have really wrapped their head around how to make good hacks. It isn’t about creating new weapon lists and character classes, it is about learning how and why a game works, and then getting up to your elbows in that structure so you change it and make it into something new. Simply replicating a system for a new setting or media property is going to lead to either a drab game or an incoherent game.

Now, with the words of warning out of the way, here’s what I’ve learned about the joys of hacking!

Hacking is a Liberating and Accessible Design Process

Glancing up at my menu bar, you can see that I’ve designed a number of games. When you start a game from scratch, you need to make a thousand interrelated decisions. Those decisions are contingent upon one another, meaning that it can be hard to isolate what works and what doesn’t work throughout the design process. If part of the game falls flat in playtesting, you need to ask yourself so many questions: are my design goals valid and appropriate? Do the mechanics I’ve designed here actually uphold my design goals? Is this specific mechanic too complicated or too simple? Do I need to fix the problem at the specific and immediate level, or by overhauling the whole system? Should this game actually be diceless? Because that’s how designing a new game system works, you need to ask yourself all these questions simultaneously.

When you hack a game, you don’t need to ask yourself all of those questions. You’re starting with a complete set of answers, and you’re only changing the ones that matter to you and to your game concept. You’re liberated from having to weigh important decisions that you don’t particularly care about.

Monsterhearts is a hack of Apocalypse World. Anything I didn’t really care about answering for myself, Vincent Baker had already provided me an answer for. I really cared about how relationships were represented and changed via the mechanics, so I spent a lot of time developing those answers for myself. I didn’t really care about how success/failure worked – just that I wanted characters to sometimes get their way and sometimes land themselves in a sticky mess – so I leaned upon Apocalypse World’s existing answers, here. “Roll 2d6 + a stat, with 6- being a failure, 7-9 being a mixed result or hard bargain, and 10+ being a clean success” is simple and fun, and crafting my own mechanics from scratch here would have been arduous and uninteresting to me. Hacking Apocalypse World liberated me from having to craft my own answers when I didn’t have strong feelings one way or another. Though, pleasantly enough, as I continued to work on the design, I found myself continually getting invested in more of the questions. But that process was never forced at gunpoint, the same way it is when you design from scratch.

It Allows People To Create Based on Their Strengths, Not Their Needs

This point is pretty similar to the first one. A game needs a lot of things in order to work and to achieve all of your design goals. As a designer, you have a set of design strengths. Your strengths and your needs aren’t always going to overlap, even if you’re designing a project that’s “just right for you.” There’s a couple different ways to respond to that a-synchronicity. First, you can just work really hard and design through your weaknesses. Sometimes you overcome them and design something brilliant, sometimes your design is generally brilliant but held back in ways. Second, you can outsource the parts of the design process that you don’t excel at. Many of us already do this with editing, layout, and art. You can partner your creative wellspring mind with a big-picture analytical mind, or vice versa, in order to lift one another up. And finally, you can hack an existing game, one that is already successful and strong in the design areas that your strengths aren’t situated.

It Lets Designers Dialogue with One Another, and Stand On One Another’s Shoulders

A hack is more than just a method for producing a game. It’s also a method for interacting with a game you really like (or, in some cases, a game you really want to like but identify problems with). It’s a dialogue between designers. Whether it’s your goal or not, you’re creating a community of exploration, each of you proving new applications to a core set of ideas. They show you a cool idea, you respond with your own cool idea that builds on it. Yes, And.

What I like about Apocalypse World is the sense of desperation and the messy and transitory relationship webs. I like that the only constant is a lack of constancy. When I look at those things, my mind leaps to a different place than post-apocalyptica, though. It leaps to the volatile emotional journey that is adolescence. Monsterhearts is a big “Yes, and” statement to Apocalypse World. It’s a way for me to do more than just buy Vincent’s art, but to instead engage it and reply to it.

It Creates DIY Communities Instead of DIY Lighthouses

Let me tell you about a really motivating force that I had behind me while I was publishing Monsterhearts: I was not alone. This design path that I was walking, it wasn’t lonely. I was walking a path that Vincent had carved, and there were other pilgrims sharing the road with me. I might be doing things that didn’t apply to those other pilgrims – like designing the Strings mechanic or Darkest Selves – but I still felt the symbolic support of a community.

Hacking creates diy communities, whereas independent from-scratch design often creates diy lighthouses.

So, Monsterhearts

It started as a joke (most of my games do). I was playing around with the idea of using Apocalypse World to run Twilight, and then I sort of realized that I’d struck gold. Melodramatic teenage monster drama makes for fantastic storytelling, because it has a strong genre formula to lean upon as well as rewarding us for playing volatile characters involved in intense-and-immediate situations.

This is the first hack that I’ve seen through to publication, and it was a really rewarding design experience. Being able to stand upon the shoulders of a giant helped me reach the mountaintop in one piece. Having a hyper-focused design community around me gave me support and critical eyes whenever I needed it.

The game’s currently available for preorder on IndieGoGo. To give people a taste of the game, and to thank those who have backed the game so far, I’m releasing a little excerpt from the game: the long play example that will be located in the back of the book. As the final text is still with the editor, this is a draft version that might be changed or revised before printing.

Click Here For a Monsterhearts Preview

Pay With Purposeful Acts of Social Good; Pay Charity

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I have some pretty big issues with capitalism, as an ethos. As someone who sells games for money, it plays into that exchange. And I’ve spent some serious time thinking about that, and thinking about how to move forward. What follows is my interrelated set of solutions.

You can now pay for Perfect Unrevised (and future games I release) in two different currencies: dollars, or purposeful acts of social good. If you pay in dollars, some of those dollars are going to be donated to charities that support the kind of social causes championed or explored by the game. Details follow.

A Portion of Proceeds

$5 from every sale of Perfect Unrevised (PDF or Print+PDF) will be donated to PEN Canada. It’s an organization that provides advocacy and support to authors whose freedom of expression is under attack – including authors who are facing exile or imprisonment for their journalism and prose.

In the future, when I release Monsterhearts, I plan to donate a portion of the proceeds to It Gets Better, or a similar organization that provides outreach and support to queer youth.

Purposeful Acts of Social Good

I’m going to try offering people a new way to obtain my games without buying them or stealing them. It is this: do purposeful acts of social good, tell me about those purposeful acts of social good, and then you get the game. I’m going to start this experiment with two PDFs, as I face zero risk in doing so. In addition to Perfect Unrevised, the other PDF on the table is The Grotesque, a new Apocalypse World playbook.

AW: The Grotesque
A new Apocalypse World playbook that I wrote. It was workshopped with Johnstone, who’s really good at workshopping Apocalypse World design stuff. You are a mutant, a physical mirror for the maelstorm and the apocalypse. You are unpredictable and alien, but you also have something good to offer the community that accepts you. Oh, and you can have nested drones or retractable claws or you can produce food spores.

“Purposeful acts of social good” is a pretty abstract currency to be working in, obviously. So I’ll just paint a picture of roughly what I envision, and then whatever you do will be correct. Perfect Unrevised is worth about 3 of these acts of good, and The Grotesque is worth 1.

  • Baking bran muffins for everyone on your block/in your apartment building.
  • Offering to walk your over-burdened neighbor’s dog once a week.
  • Volunteer to do an hour of work at a community co-op radio station.
  • Donating ten dollars to a worthy charity.
  • Organizing a story games club for a local middle school.
  • Spending an hour walking around downtown telling strangers about how they’re beautiful.
  • Give a ride to a hitch-hiker, and go out of your way to deliver them to their destination.
  • Spend half an hour cleaning up garbage in a local park.
  • Do something subversive that provokes thoughtful discussion about the world we live in.

Once you’ve completed your purposeful acts of social good, email me at mcdaldno. That’s a gmail address. And I’ll hook you up with your PDF.

It should be stuff you weren’t planning to do already, if there’s a distinction. Go out of your way and do good, and that’s how you can pay for Perfect or The Grotesque. If this works, I’ll open the stage up for all my games, print and digital, maybe.

Why Not Free?

So, why not just give away my games for free? The answer comes down to what I want to get out of making games, and putting them into people’s hands. I want to foster an exchange and dialogue with people interested in my games. I want to feel validated for my efforts. I want people to understand these are major efforts with great worth. And, finally, I want these games to contribute to social good. I feel like, at the moment, these goals are best met by adopting a different type of exchange, rather than just giving them away. I’d love to hear other ideas, though, and to engage that conversation with you more. Comment!

Feral

I’m writing the new draft of Monsterhearts right now. I just finished sketching out a skeleton for the document, in Scrivener. I’m now working on the introduction.

I’ve decided that I want a “what is a story game” section at the front. So I put a few sentences to paper, without thinking very critically about what I was writing. And then, looking back, I was really happy with this one gem that I saw nestled in there.

And so, the opening paragraph of Monsterhearts, at current:

This is a story game. To play, we invent characters and roleplay as them. We say things, and in response to some of those things we roll dice and interact with rules. The rules are there to keep the story feral – no matter how gorgeous and perfect we imagine our characters to be, they are never given the luxury of domesticating their fate. They are always in the lurch, which means they are always interesting. The rules are there to make sure that it isn’t my story, and it isn’t your story. Instead, it’s something emergent and raw and spellbinding.

“The rules are there to keep the story feral.”
I feel really good about that line.

Setbacks

So, the print version of Perfect Unrevised has been 99% complete for the last month. Or, at least, at any given moment, I’ve been under the impression that it was 99% done. But then as I round the final hump, I encounter a frustrating setback, and it puts yet another hump between me and finally ordering this print run.

Here’s where I’m at now: I’ve received the proof, and with a friend gone and checked it page-by-page, line-by-line. I noticed some typos, as well as some sentences that would be clearer with revision. The border graphics for Chapter 5 looked really muddy, and I decided they should be replaced with something similar.

I made all those changes, and then the file I was working in corrupted. I had made a back-up shortly before ordering the proof, thankfully… but I still lost several hours of tedious work. I’m on the road right now, still, and so made a new plan: when I arrived at my next destination, where my friend owned a computer with ID CS4, I’d re-do my work there. But, his computer was a Windows machine, and the fonts that I’m using are Mac formatted… so it’s not possible here. So, when I move on to my next city (Olympia, once more), THEN I’ll be able to re-do those edits and send in updated files and order my print run.

So, I guess this is just a status update, to say: in a week, I’m going to be able to make all the edits that I made half a week ago. And then I’ll be able to order the print run. And then I’ll be able to ship them out. And then I’ll be able to hold a book in my hands, smiling, and say, “I made this.”

Soon!

Perfecting It

Perfect, Unrevised is for sale. This is one of the most exciting announcements of my life. Folks can pick up the PDF for $10, and preorder the book for $22 + s&h.

This moment has been a long time coming. I’d like to share with you how I got here, and link you to some reviews and AP along the way.

In late 2005, I started reading The Forge. I participated in one or two little design contests, before stumbling upon my big RPG idea in early 2006. Imagine a game where your character sheet only told you about the things you can’t do? Imagine if play was about finding out how to work around that?

That idea in and of itself didn’t prove to be very exciting, but it did lead to Perfect. Impatient and seventeen, I rushed to design and release the game as soon as was humanly possible. I was at Gencon with the game in hand that very same year – about 6 months after my initial idea.

That’s, uh, a stupid way to design a game. In May of this year, I blogged about some of the lessons I learned in that experience.

I published the game, and was initially really excited about it. I heard some really lovely compliments from Paul Czege, who was my game design idol. Ron Edwards played it,  and then played it some more. He encountered some glaring hiccups, but generally liked it. Malcolm Craig played it too. He encountered some glaring hiccups, but generally liked it.

Over time, the glaring hiccups came to occupy more and more of my mental real estate, and reports of people having “generally liked it” were less exciting. Some time in 2007, I pulled the game off the market. I was determined to refine it and re-release it once it had been, well, perfected.

I assume this process will take about three months. It takes over three years. The game receives about 100 playtests over this period, some led by me and some blind. I posted about one session here.

I almost abandoned the game several times, because the work of editing and refining turned out to be hard. Gasp! What a surprise!

It’s then that fans and supporters came out of the woodwork, to help push me to keep going. Gary Breinholt is one of those people. He playtested every iteration of the game I put out, for years, and always came back with critique and encouragement. I shared some of that process here, in 2008.

Finally, in the early Summer of 2010, I had something that felt complete, that told the kinds of stories I wanted it to, that was easy and compelling. Playtests started to soar. Feeling immensely confident – cocky even, I put the game up as a Kickstarter project, asking for $7,000 in funds to publish the game. I managed to raise an exciting $2,660… and am ultimately glad that I failed to raise more. The game design was done, but the physical product was still far from complete.

I worked with editor Josh Roby, who was fantastic. And then I spent months slaving away in inDesign. I learned a lot about graphic design in the process, predominantly that it is a much slower craft than you would think it is.

Come to think of it, I’ve learned something about all crafts: they take much longer than you’d think. Artistry isn’t something you can just vomit onto a page. It takes years of training, honing, doing, refining, re-examining, doubting, and trusting.

It’s been exciting to actually go through that process, and give every step its due attention. At the height of my wit, I named this second edition Perfect, Unrevised – a nod at the dystopian, history-erasing setting it exists within. But truth be told, this is the project that’s taught me the value of revising – the value of hard work.

I talk about some of the important mechanical changes here. The folks at the tremendously good Ninja Vs Pirates podcast explore the mechanics and the structure of the game, with me, here.

And now, finally, it’s ready. You can buy it if you want to. Wilper did, and he reviewed it the very next day. The review is really good and comprehensive, albeit short.

Expect Awesome

So, at some point in the next 5 months, I’m going to be done selling Ribbon Drive as a deluxe game&cd set. I’m going to be publishing it as a simple, sexy book. The text is going to be updated and expanded somewhat, to address some questions and concerns that people have brought up since the game was first published.

The exciting bit is that there’s going to be several hacks of Ribbon Drive included in the back of the book, in the B SIDES section. One is Radion-Accelerator Drive, my homage to Firefly.

This is one of the pieces of art that Andy Henderson is doing for that B SIDE. I think it’s titled, “Wishing I Was Offworld.” So good!

Andy first inspired that Firefly hack, at Gencon ’09. Something to this effect: “Joe, you gotta know – I love Ribbon Drive, I love its quiet moments, its understated elegance… but the moment I get my hands on it, me and my friends are going to use it to tell stories about rocket ships and dinosaurs and cowboys.” And, that boyish sincerity… it was kinda exciting. And now he’s illustrating the game borne of his inspiration. How awesome.

Cover Dilemma

I’ve been trying to design the front cover for Perfect, and finding it to be a remarkably challenging task. A reduced-to-tears-frequently task.

Part of the problem is that I don’t have a good feel for cover design – whereas I feel like I at least know what makes for a good page layout, I don’t know what makes for a good cover.

A bigger part of the problem is that my genres that I’m leaning on – steampunk and dystopia – have very iconic design that doesn’t line up with Cadence’s tone at all. Steampunk layout is very busy, relying on lots of intricate gear images and distressed sepiatone art. Dystopic imagery is very often futuristic, almost always features strong colour contrasts, and is very iconic. None of that jives with Cadence – repressed, muted, abstinent, riddled with inequity and paradox.

And the biggest problem is that I’ve spent so many hours trying to design a cover that I’ve lost my perspective. I’ve undermined any appreciation of my own sensibilities, I’ve exhausted my ideas, and I’ve designed myself into a corner.

And so, I turn to you, internet. I’m mostly writing this post because a couple people offered to help, but also because I want to cast a wide net in trolling for support.

A few pages of the book, to give you a sense of the interior: here. (note: each chapter has a different border.)

I want the cover to say some of these things:
repression, control, heaviness, oppression
tension, imbalance, discord
a crack in the wall, momentum, possibility
rage, passion, an unquenchable thirst for justice

Read More»

Damsels in Delinquency (oh, and a colouring contest)

So, I’m very close to releasing Perfect, my game of criminals in a steampunk dystopia. It’s a game that’s near and dear to my heart. You see, I first published Perfect in 2006. And then I realized that it wasn’t done yet, that it still needed lots of reworking and playtesting. So I took it back to the drawing board, and have spent the past 3-4 years reworking it. I’ve poured more energy and love into this game than any other.

In those years of development, I’ve contended with an upsetting fact about the originally-released game. It was a game about dudes. The setting mentioned exactly one female character, who was dead, made famous precisely because she did nothing. She withheld her power, and she refused to interact with the world, and she died as some kind of fucked up martyr. Now, Queen Abigail is an awesome character. I really like her whole aesthetic and the mythology that surrounds her. But as the only picture of femininity in my setting? All kinds of problematic.

The text was gendered in the masculine. The Inspectors, who form the backbone of the game’s antagonism, were strictly male. The criminal protagonists of the game were implicitly male. Almost all of the art depicted men.

This was a serious problem that needed correction. I had never set out to make a game about dudes. If someone wanting to buy the game had asked me, “can I play an awesome lady criminal?” I’d have given an emphatic yes. But that wasn’t really true, upon further examination. The lady criminals were absent. There was nothing preventing you from playing one, but the entire weight of the text was pushing against you.

This was an absurd clash with my player base. More than half of the people who’ve sat down at conventions to play Perfect were female. At steampunk conventions, that number rises to about four fifths.

And so, in writing this new edition (“Perfect, Unrevised”), I’ve been very thoughtful in the story I am constructing about gender and agency. I’ve fought hard to avoid the “gender fail” that is so prevalent in RPG publishing – that of either omitting women from your art and text, or instead making them passive sex objects.

I wanted a game that celebrated powerful women fighting back against a repressive and unjust society.

Read More»

Pay What You Want To

So, maybe I’m a big hippie. Let’s see: I live in a log cabin in the mountains, in the forest. Half of the contents of my fridge were retrieved by a recent dumpster dive. I’m unemployed, and spend all my time doing art. My girlfriend and I practice free love. Being a minimalist consumer matters deeply to me. I am working every day to rewild my heart and soul. Yep, big hippie.

So, these are the words of a big hippie. Take them with a grain of salt (or a dash of nutritional yeast, if you’re also a big hippie).

I started selling Ribbon Drive on a sliding-scale/pay-what-you-want model a few months ago. It’s led to more happiness. Also, more money.

When I had the game set at a fixed retail price ($30 originally, $24 after sales had declined), people would often complain that it was priced too steeply. It’s a gorgeous product, but it’s also a really minimal design and a short book. People were forced to interact with it as a $30 (or $24) product, and some people felt bummed out about that. In turn, I felt bummed out about that.

Buying the game was a yes/no switch. You either forked over the specified amount, or you didn’t. And so, if you felt like the game was innovative and you liked it, but felt uncomfortable paying $30 for it, you had two losing situations to choose between: buy it and feel bummed out; don’t buy it and still feel bummed out.

Now, here’s how it works: I tell you how much it costs. I need at least that much money, because I’m running a business and that’s serious stuff. Beyond that, though, you pay what you want to pay. And so, if you feel like the game is innovative and you like it, and you feel comfortable paying like $22 for it, then you do that. I’m delighted to sell you something at a comfortable price. You’re delighted to get it at a comfortable price. Everyone feels good.

Now, here’s the other cool thing that’s going on here: since making this switch, I’ve sold more copies and made more money. Lots of people, given the choice, decided that the game was worth $30 to them.

I’ve sold a single copy at $18, a handful of copies at $20, lots between $22 and $28, and then a handful of copies at $30.

When I set a fixed price at $30, people were uncomfortable with that exchange. It was a troubling decision that I was asking them to make. When I freely explain my costs, and invite them into a dialogue about what they want to pay, suddenly lots of people are happy to pay that same $30.

I think that:

1.) People are generous and beautiful when you give them a chance to be and trust that they will be.

2.) People are happiest when they’re given the power to define their own experiences, even in simple and small ways. For most people, this applies to consumer experiences, too. Choice adds value to the experience, which might account for some of the reason that people are happy to pay more when given the option to.

Now, my friend Ben Lehman is doing something similar. He’s selling eBooks of two of his games (Polaris and Bliss Stage) at whatever price you want to pay. Excluding a few vocal detractors on the Story Games forums, people have been really excited about this. He’s sold over $400 worth of eBooks in a scant 5 days. These aren’t new products, either – they’ve been steadily available for a long time, now.

He’s received donations that well exceeded his previous fixed price. He’s received a huge amount of traffic and generosity. If you haven’t bought those games yet, now’s a great time to do so. Ben’s at the top of the game design craft. Polaris is one of the most beautiful games ever, one that I still return to regularly, 4.5 years after buying it.

But, I digress. I want to bring this back to the lesson I’m taking from this experiment:

People crave simple dialogue, and the ability to shape their own experiences in little ways. Bringing this dialogue to a retail experience not only makes everybody happy, it also makes you more money. People are generous and beautiful when you give them the opportunity to prove it.

Thus spoke a hippie, from his writing studio way up in the mountains.

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