A common question I get asked is, “that’s me, right?” and the person asking points to a character in one of my stories.  The answer is usually no. 

While I’ve encountered a bunch of interesting people (interesting in both senses of the word, interesting fun and interesting weird), it’s hard to incorporate them into a story.  The fictional situations I create don’t lend themselves to incorporating real people.  I’d be shoehorning someone’s personality into a situation that doesn’t fit.  What makes someone funny, scary, threatening or endearing in real life rarely translates well to the written page.  Well, in my case, anyway. 

I heard Lee Child tell how he incorporated all the people who fired him into his Jack Reacher books, by turning them into bad guys that Reacher kills off.  I think that’s why businesses now have exit interviews…

Another reason I don’t lift people’s characters and put them into stories is because people might not like it.  Although a lot of people want to be immortalized in print, there are those that don’t because the subject matter isn’t complimentary or pleasant. 

I wrote a horror story about a woman’s compulsion with losing weight.  It’s a dark and uncomfortable piece and has been published a number of times.  A lady I worked with read it and kept challenging me about the story.  Was the protagonist based on her?  It wasn’t.  The story was written three years before I met her.  This is the last thing I want to do.  I don’t want to take someone’s personal life and make fiction of it, because I wouldn’t like it if it were me used in the story.  So I do have a strong reason for not putting people in my stories.

The only thing I do steal is names.  I hate coming up with character names.  They always come off fake sounding, so I like real life names.  I steal interesting names from my friends and acquaintances and put them into the story.  And I use only their name.  I don’t use their physical description or anything.  It’s the name I’m interested in.  Some names look good on the page.  Others conjure an image in my head.  So beware.  If you have a neat name, I’m gonna steal it.

So, if people I’ve encountered in my life aren’t the characters in my stories, then who are?  The truth is—me!   I’m the basis for all the characters you read on the page..  I’m the protagonist, the antagonist, the sidekick, the femme fatal, the thug, the hero.  The whole motley crew.  I get to thinking about my characters, their situations, background, etc. and I take on their personas.   I’ll sit there and I wonder to myself…if was a complete bastard, what would I do, how would I do it, how dangerous would I be?  I apply the same process to the good guy and all the other characters.  I must admit I get quite carried away (and I will get carried away if I don’t shake the character out of me at the end of the writing day).  If I’m writing a scene from a particular character’s point of view, I do have to take a five-minute break when I switch to another character’s scene to enable me to swap mindsets. 

The results can be quite startling.  For Working Stiffs, I wrote a particularly nasty intimidation scene.  I was quite shocked at the result on the page.  From the story’s point of view, it was great.  From a personal point of view, I’d created a nasty person and all based on—if I were him, what would I do?  I chose not to break for the following scene.  It was a remorse scene and I wrote exactly how I felt after the intimidation scene.  It was very personal and satisfying.  These things can only come from within and not from watching others.

So if ever you wonder if the character you’re reading in one of my books is you, the answer’s no.  It’s me.  They’re all me.  Now isn’t that a scary thought?

Sleep tight,
Simon Wood

by Pari Noskin Taichert

A little more than a week ago, I earned my red belt in Tae Kwon Do. For someone who started this demanding martial art late in life, getting this far — only three more levels until the test for black belt — the switch from blue to red feels like an incredible accomplishment.

When you’re 48 and trying to do a flying side kick and only getting a few inches off the floor — and the young bucks have one-minute hang times — it can be discouraging. Still, I persevere.

I was going to use this post to compare the trials and tribulations of being an author with doing Tae Kwon Do — but the comparisons were too predictable, too pat.

Instead, I thought I’d let you into my Tae Kwon Do world this bright Monday in August.

WARNING: These pictures are unflattering (not the photog’s fault, btw). Don’t hold that against me when we meet. I’ve been told for at least a year that I have a very intense, fierce face when I do TKD. Well, I didn’t believe it until I saw these . . .

Before we do anything, we stretch. I’m the only person with her legs straight in front of her. My expression is already beginning to change. 

Behind me, on the wall are photos of past championships won by members of our Do Jang. If you look closely, you can see a man standing in the very back on the left — he’s Master Kim, our teacher.

Every testing is different. This time, we broke out into male/female groups and did the first six of our forms (in karate, they’d be called "kata")together. I’m in the back, to the left near the mounted staffs (bo).

You never know with testings . . . I expected to do several forms by myself. However, I only had the opportunity to do one — and it was with the other lady testing for a red belt. This form is called Toi Gye (pronounced "ta-gay"). The following two pix are also this form — and I’m looking mighty fierce.

Many people hate Toi Gye because it has six stomps. These make you look like you did in second grade when you pretended to be a tree. To make the stomp, you have to twist your body and land hard. I still am not very good at it — but you can see I bring real energy to the motion. The woman behind me is more than 10 years younger than I am and quite an accomplished athlete. I want to hate her . . . .

I’ve just leapt and landed in that position. It’s a very satisfying move.

The next few photos are of kicks — we do them to keep limber at testing and, later, in preparation for our board-breaking. I’m including several so that you can see the focus in preparing for the kick and then the execution. The woman who is in front of me in line is 55 — and every time I start feeling sorry for myself, I just look at her and stop it.

I think I’ve just landed a kick here and am yelling that loud Kee Yah! that can wake up the dead. Believe me, my kee yah is frightening. I should use it on publishers and misbehaving children  . . .

I’m preparing to do two roundhouse kicks here.

Bam!

I had no idea I got my leg that high. Not bad for someone looking at 50.

Here is a challenging balancing exercise. You kick that little red pad front to back — with power — as many times as you can without setting your foot down. I managed to get at least seven sets — the most in the line that time through — and it was such a good feeling to do something really well.

Again, the men and women were separated for — what I think of as — running the gauntlet. We have four large pads, spaced moderately evenly and we have to run and kick with opposite legs as fast and hard as we can.

Ka-bam!

Usually when I spar, I wear a helmet, mouthpiece, sparring gloves, kicking pads (and sometimes even shin guards) — but at testing we have no equipment. Still, I love sparring — though I get socked, punched and kicked a lot. I’m in the middle of the picture here, leaning back — my hands are raised to protect and attack. I’m also laughing.

I’m still center screen here, my butt to the camera (with the blue belt). I’m trying to land a kick on my opponent — but he has the same idea. This happens often in sparring and can hurt like the dickens when knees or shins meet.  Why am I still enjoying it so much? Insanity, I tell you.

This is one of my many attempts to break a 1-inch board with a shuffle front kick. Here, I have to skip, launch myself up and forward and break the board with the ball of my front foot.

Of the many breaks we can do, this one has always scared me because I have horrid and very painful bunions that hurt all the time. Merely getting my foot in position to do the kick hurts like hell. But, I DID IT. 

Though I’ve broken more boards with other kicks and hits, my fear of this break was very important to overcome.

I wish I had a photo of me smiling and showing you my new red belt . . . but none of them turned out very well, alas. . .

Thanks for letting me relive my glory day. 

And, thanks to Master Brian Kast for taking these photos.

QUESTION:

What challenge, besides writing (if you’re a writer), have you pursued in spite of frustration — so that now, it brings you more pleasure than not? Please share it with the rest of us in the comments.

Jeffrey Cohen

There has been much talk this week, at least on DorothyL about titles. Not like “Lord” or “Duke” or my particular favorite, “Viscount” (doesn’t that sound like it should cost less than the other titles?), but titles of books. In particular, mystery books.

Now, whatever meager reputation I have in the world of mystery publishing (a great term, implying the publisher will be surprised by what comes out) is based at least partially on the fact that people remember my titles.

Or, they think they do, but we’ll get back to that.

I’m not one to brag–unless I’m awake–but I’ve had other mystery authors approach me and ask how I write my titles. There have been times I’ve considered hiring myself out to write titles, and then I remember that other authors probably can’t afford me any more than I can. The point is, my titles have gotten some attention, of the positive kind, and that leads to a consideration of what makes a title work, or not work.

The four titles I’ve written so far for mystery novels have been meant to convey a sense of humor, that the books would be fun. But they were also designed to impart information.

For Whom The Minivan Rolls: Because it was the first book in the Aaron Tucker series, this title had to convey a lot of information to readers who had never heard of me, or Aaron, before (this, by the way, still applies to more than 99.9 percent of the population, but I’m working on it). I wanted the idea that this was a mystery novel to be communicated, and the fact that the title is, even in a silly way, ominous (and the subsequent fact that the subtitle was “An Aaron Tucker Mystery“, duh!) got that factoid across. But I also wanted it known that this was a comical mystery, and since I think “minivan” is a funny word–otherwise the proper title would be For Whom the SUV Rolls, which is a lot less mellifluous–that was accomplished, too. And since the humor was derived from a suburban point of view, “minivan” once again helped. The fact that the first scene in the book portrays a woman being threatened by a minivan was a complete coincidence.

{By the way, this is the title that people most often misquote to me: “I just loved your book, Where The Minivan Rolls!” “Today on ‘BookTalk,’ Jeff Cohen, author of For Whom the Minivan Tolls.” “Great Big Generic Bookseller is proud to present Jeff Cohen, author of The Minivan Rolls For Thee.” So, maybe I’m not as good at titles as I thought I was.}

A Farewell to Legs: The second Hemingway parody, entirely unintentional. I had never set out to do Hemingway titles. But once the victim in the sequel to whatever that last book was called became “Crazy Legs Gibson” (and no, Mel was not the intended victim in that book; the name’s a coincidence), the title was set. It’s still the one I have trouble saying with a straight face.

As Dog Is My Witness: Well, the fact is, there’s a dog in this book. And she is, indeed, present when the victim is shot. And despite the fact that she doesn’t actually talk, she does–in a very doggy fashion–help solve the crime. And besides, one of the subplots has Aaron dealing with the difference between celebrations of Christmas and Chanukah, so religion, in some sick, twisted way, had a small part in this book. So the pun is appropriate.

Some Like It Hot Buttered: There’s still some confusion as to whether there should be a hyphen between “hot” and “buttered.” I think it’s going without, but don’t hold me to it. Well, the new Comedy Tonight series takes place in a small movie theatre, and the victim in this one is poisoned while eating popcorn. Do the math.

But now, I have to write the second book in the Comedy Tonight series, and I’ve once again established unintentional precedents. I want the new one to be a play on a classic comedy film title, but also to have some relevance to the plot, which involves feuding ex-comedy partners, now quite elderly (think The Sunshine Boys, where Walter Matthau kills George Burns–but funny).

Got any ideas?

My wife, Julie, kicked me under the table at a restaurant the other day.

“You’re doing it again,” she said. 

“What?”

“You’re watching something going on.  You think you’re subtle, but you’re so obvious.”

She’d caught me red-handed.  Something had caught my eye in the restaurant.  But I was listening to her—honest!  Her mother was wrestling tigers in Sumatra.  Well, I think that’s what she said.

I’m always people watching and situation observing.  Regardless of the facts of the matter, there could be a story in it.  Truth always makes great fiction.  If I can think it, I swear someone else has already done it.

It doesn’t have to be a big thing that catches my eye.  A couple breaking up or falling in love can be just as fascinating as cops chasing a subject down the middle of a crowded street.  I can always learn from how people handle themselves in real situations.  A Hollywood bar brawl looks nothing like two drunks really trying to duke it out on a street corner.

But I have to admit my passion is for the strange.  I love coming across weird chunks of real life to ignite my imagination.  The other month, I was driving to Fresno to give a speech to the Central Valley chapter of Sisters in Crime.  I was hurtling along I-5 and I suddenly had to swerve out of the way to avoid an army duffel in the middle of the freeway.  I considered stopping, but with the onslaught of traffic behind me, I was going to get smooshed and what the hell was I going to do with the bag if I did pick it up?

Cha-ching! 

It hit me.  What if I stopped to pick up the bag?  What would I find?  Clothes?  How about a bunch of cash?  Would I keep it?  Bloody right, I would.  Finders keepers.   What if the owners of the moneybag saw me take the bag, came after me, and we mixed it up? 

Then again, what if it was body parts in the bag instead?  I don’t think I’d keep the bag then, but my fingerprints would be everywhere and the cops would suspect me of chopping up the body.  I’d be an innocent man, but the cops wouldn’t believe me and then I’d have to go on the run to clear my name.

Maybe I decided to leave the bag alone because of the potential of above and I drove on by.  What if the effect of this was that a school bus struck the bag, flipped the median and started a chain-reaction of carnage leading to a fatal pile up?  How would I feel then?  Especially when the parents of the school children banded together to hunt me down as part of some tragic revenge story.

All these things occurred to me within 3 seconds of passing the duffel, so that gives you a feel for how my mind works and why I should be confined to a state facility.

The point of all this is that the incidences that lead to ideas are out there.  I must admit I have a habit of stumbling on to the strange, but I can’t be everywhere at once.  This is a reason I comb the newspapers for stories.  Not the headline stuff, but the little stories that warrant only a few column inches.  These back-stories and page fillers are great resources.  People do the oddest things for the oddest motives and that’s what I’m looking for.  Crimes stories usually boil down to a very basic and fundamental reason and that what I’m always searching for—a passion for crime. 

There’s only so much a writer can conjure from thin air, but there’s a whole big bunch of stuff out there happening all the time.  I might not use it word for word, but reality makes a great foundation for fiction.

So sorry, Julie, I’m going to keep people watching.

Here’s looking at you,
Simon

PS:  And don’t even consider using these story ideas.  I thought of them and if you use them, I’ll hunt you down like a dog.  That’s intellectual property justice.  Plain and simple.  Don’t make me hurt you.

by Pari Noskin Taichert

Every once in awhile, it’s good to get back to basics.

As I’ve wandered through websites and listservs lately, I’ve seen alot of worrying about trivia (what to put on a business card, which bookmarks are the best, what is the most effective giveaway, what to say at a booksigning  etc. etc.)

So, this might be a good time to backtrack and think about the bigger concepts.

Before you do anything else, please take a few moments to answer these five questions. They’ll save you bodacious bucks and valuable time.

1. What’s my product?
Boy, this one seems simple to answer — but look closer.
Your product is the thing you’re trying to promote. Is it you? Is it your book? Is it a series? Is it a feeling — a sensation? Is it entertainment? Laughter? Thrills? I think many authors forget to define this at the beginning of their PR efforts — or they get confused — and it affects their success from the get-go.

2. What is its story?
This is called your message. Determine what you really want to say about your product right after you figure out #1. What’s important about your product? What’s fresh? What’s different? Why should anyone in the world care?

Guess what? You can have multiple messages.

3. Who am I trying to reach?
Who do you want to care about your product/message? These people, known as customers, are your audience. Customers don’t always buy your product, but they help you promote; they affect your efforts in a positive, active manner.

Most products have more than one audience. For example, some of the audiences for my Sasha Solomon series are traditional mystery readers, reviewers, booksellers, women’s fiction readers, baby boomer women who like to laugh, New Mexico and SW enthusiasts, people who are curious about NM, reform Jewish lit readers, radio stations, television stations, newspaper features reporters, librarians — and so on.

4. Does my message matter to my audience?
Look at the big picture here.

One of main messages about the Sasha Solomon series is that it presents a different vision of New Mexico — one that goes beyond cowboys & Indians and the weird idea that people here don’t speak English. Okay, that’s great.

But, if I’m trying to sell that message to baby boomer women who like to laugh — they simply won’t care. And it won’t matter how I package that message — on a book mark, a brochure or on custom-printed whipped cream cans; they won’t care. (Okay, maybe they would care with the whipped cream — they might realize that my books have humor with that last approach — but it’d be another message. That’s my point.)

5. Do I need to rethink my message or target audience?
If the answers come hard to questions 3 & 4, you may need to rework something. Better to realize this during the concepting stage than to spend money and effort on ineffective media campaigns, giveaways, events and so forth.

Knowing — What you’re selling, who you’re selling it to, and what matters to them,

all goes hand-in-hand. You can start anywhere in the process, but you need to get those three down before you worry about the specifics.

For me, sometimes, it helps to develop a few answers to the What–Who and What-Matters, formula. That way I can play with possibilities and see which ones are the most fun for me to pursue.

Whatever you do, use the five questions above to guide your thinking.

If you work through this process honestly, you’ll find it easier to set course and navigate your PR and Marketing campaigns.

(Again, note that this PR advice is just as useful for non-author businesspeople, too.)

Jeffrey Cohen

It is an interesting thing to be a mystery author. People you meet will automatically assume you have a macabre streak, that you are an expert in exotic ways to dispose of corpses, and that you are using your imagination to get back at all those people who have in some way wronged you. (And even while that last one is true, it’s funny how they know it in advance.)

It’s even more interesting to be a Jewish mystery author in America. By "Jewish mystery author," I do not mean an author who writes mysteries that are about Judaism or includes characters who are Orthodox Jews, as someone like Rochelle Krich does so well. I mean an author of mysteries who happens, by happenstance and genetics, to be of Jewish descent.

For the past four years (and counting), I have been a Jewish mystery author. This is especially ironic, as I am not particularly observant–okay, I’m not even a little observant. But people I meet through the books generally expect me to have some authoritative knowledge of the Talmud, what Tu Bishvat might be, and where one can get especially good whitefish on a Sunday morning.

I don’t have a clue, I can assure you. But I’ve known all my life that people will look at my last name (and let’s face it, my face) and think, "Jew." This can be a positive thing or a negative thing (or a completely neutral thing), depending on whether you are reasonable person, or Mel Gibson.

What, you may be thinking, does this have to do with writing and marketing? A good deal, in fact.

One of the first things the publisher suggested to me when my first novel, For Whom the Minivan Rolls, was about to be printed was that I look into "the Jewish market." He said that I could find Jewish book fairs and Jewish book groups that might be interested in the book, and I could go there and talk about the book, and they would buy the book.

"But it’s really not a Jewish book," I told him. Yes, the main character is a secular Jew, much like myself, but it’s not much of an issue in that book. In fact, it barely gets a mention.

"That doesn’t matter," he said.

"But, if they expect it to be about Jewish issues, or for the character to be really Jewish, they’re going to be disappointed," I argued. I’m really good at arguing with people who are trying to help me sell my books to more people. It’s a gift.

"They don’t care if the character’s Jewish," he said. "You’re Jewish. That’s good enough."

Well, try as I might to hide my light under a bagel, there was no arguing. So I attended a few Jewish book fairs, and a few more book groups and book clubs whose members were predominantly Jewish.

They were lovely. And they couldn’t care less that my books weren’t about the "American Jewish experience." Which is a good thing, because while I could go on for days about my experience as a Jewish man in America, I don’t by any stretch represent more than… myself, and I’m no spokesman for Americans, Jews, men, or authors. I’m one example, and not an especially good one, at that.

But the groups simply wanted to hear about the books. They laughed when I hoped they would laugh, and they did, indeed, buy a good number of books. I felt a little odd about it, as if I were taking their money under false pretenses, as I’d never considered myself a Jewish Author (I was, in fact, just getting used to the idea that I was an author at all). Nobody seemed to mind.

Since then, I’ve gotten many very generous emails from some members of these groups, and people to whom they’ve recommended my books. They’ve become fans, proving once again that I have no idea what I’m talking about most of the time.

In the second Aaron Tucker novel, A Farewell to Legs, I included a scene in which Aaron runs into a woman whose opinion of us Semites was, let’s say, not especially tolerant (there’s nothing a member of ANY minority group in this country loves more than being tolerated). I did not include the scene in the book to appeal to Jewish book clubs or groups; I did it because it helped the scene, it gave Aaron a little more depth and maybe it exposed the tiniest fraction of anti-Semitism, something that even those of us who live in especially tolerant areas confront once in a while.

By the time the third book, As Dog Is My Witness, came out, I felt comfortable enough to let Aaron talk about what it’s like to be Jewish in America during what has euphemistically become known as the "Holiday Season." Once again, it was not an attempt to pander to one audience–I hope my books will appeal to everyone. But it was a subject ripe for jokes, and that’s what Aaron is about: making people laugh.

So maybe I am a Jewish Author after all.

When my new series begins next year, with Some Like It Hot Buttered: A Comedy Tonight Mystery, it will once again feature a main character who is, at least by birth, Jewish. The first book in the series has almost no reference to his ethnicity at all, as it’s not something that comes up every day. But there are always possibilities.

I have to go now and decide on a murder victim for my next book. I’m considering a movie star, but that could change…

My stories are being used in the classroom environment to teach students about literature.  Wow, can you say, a feather in your cap?

It’s quite a compliment to learn that my work is being used for literary study, especially at the university level.  It’s weird that my stories have made it into a university classroom when I never did.

The stories are being used in an honors English program in a class for interpretive reading.  The students select a piece from a bunch of stories and remark on the symbolism in the story and the crux of what the author intended to say.

Seeing as I’m alive and not dead, the professor asked if I wanted to see a summary of what the students had found in my work.  Furthermore, the professor asked if I wanted to remark on their findings because the students wanted to know if they were right with their interpretations. 

I wasn’t sure at first.  These were students (with an education) viewing what I write on an academic level.  I don’t write that way.  I write stories because I’ve thought of a great idea for a story and I want to tell it.  I write genre fiction, because I like genre fiction.  I’m not trying to be literary.  I’m trying to be entertaining.  Even though the thought of clever minds picking through my stories sounded as appetizing as hearing about an analysis of my stomach contents, I said sure.  Deep down, I was flattered by the fact the university was using my stories and I wanted to hear what they thought.

“Bring it on,” I said.

Hmm.  The results weren’t what I was expecting.  Their analysis was very complimentary.  They said some very nice things, but boy, did they read a lot into those stories.  They formulated theories and concepts that sounded so convincing that I almost believed them.  It sounded great.  I came off as a genius.  But they read far more into the pieces than I had intended.

I know it’s said for truth, read fiction.  Animal Farm was an allegory for Stalin’s corruption of communist Russia and not a child’s fairytale, although it can be read as both.

Students saw a heavy Christian message because of the perceived Catholic symbolism in one story and detailed a compelling argument for it.  The problem is that I’m not a Catholic and it had nothing to do with the story.  When another of my stories was selected, I asked the professor if they’d made a connection between the story and the war in Iraq. 

“They did,” the professor said.  “And was there one?”

“No,” I replied.  “I could just see where they might get that idea.”

It’s made me wonder if these interpretations say more about the reader than the writer.

This isn’t to say their interpretations are wrong or that my stories are entirely shallow, escapist fun.  It’s just that my inspiration for a story comes from strange places, personal experiences, half conversations, backhand remarks, other people’s lives, or a sandwich I had last week.  From that I’ll think of an interesting premise and inject a conflicting character into that situation.  And from that I hope to have an interesting tale.  I try not to inject an agenda into my stories, because when I read them all I see is the agenda and I’ve crossed the line from entertainment to a sermon and I don’t want that.  I’m a storyteller, not a politician or a preacher.

This experience has made me a little self conscious about the lines I read between when I’m reading other people’s work.  Do my assumptions go beyond what the writer intended?  Because sometimes, a story is just a story and nothing more.

Happy reading,
Simon Wood

by Pari Noskin Taichert

"If Hell exists, it’s filled with old boyfriends . . . and a cat."

So begins the manuscript I’m editing right now in which Sasha Solomon, my protagonist, is plagued by nightmares about relationships gone bad. Because I’m thinking so much about her life, I’m remembering fragments of my own.

Many years ago, I had a boyfriend who was an artist. Since our first interactions neglected talking in favor of aerobics, we didn’t get to know each other much until we were well into being "a couple."

One day, he showed me his art.

I broke up with him that night.

You see, I didn’t get it — his art, I mean. He spent hours with pastels and watercolors creating images of flying chairs. These weren’t chairs with wings; I think I would have liked that. No, his renditions were chairs moving through the air — white background, slightly bent chrome or wooden legs, and blah upholstery. Like I said, I didn’t get it.

I broke up with him because I felt our relationship had no future if something so important, something that tagged his essence as a human being, evoked mocking emotions in me.

As writers, we know writers. Every convention, every trip to the bookstore or library, offers oppportunities to read friends’ works.

What do you do when you care for the person, but not for his story — or craft?

I’m not thinking of anyone in particular here — not when it comes to mystery authors — but I know it’s happened to me. I’ve picked up a book by someone I like, wanted to love it, and haven’t.

It’s an uncomfortable, incomplete, and slightly treacherous response — and it needles me when I see that person later.

Right now, I can imagine several of you are wondering if I’m writing about you.

Don’t go there.

I’m not thinking of anyone in particular.

Honest.

I simply want to explore this uneasy subject because it’s one of those things we don’t talk about — and it stymies forthright communication and makes us cringe internally.

So, I want to know: How do you handle it when a friend asks you to read his book — or expects that you have — and you have . . . but you don’t want to talk about it because you couldn’t get past p. 40?

Me?

I’ve begun to search for the good in every work — something I can praise or admire. But it can be difficult and I still feel like a traitor for not adoring the entire tome, the baby that it took a friend or acquaintance so much effort to create.

Has this ever happened to you?

How have you handled it?