Does This Novel Make Me Look Fat?

I went for my annual physical a while back. I’m in pretty good health, Doc said … all things considered. BP is a little high as is my cholesterol. “We’ll use meds to get that under control. Other than that you’re in great shape,” he said. “Except for your weight. You need to lose a few pounds.”

A few pounds. OK. But as many of you out there in the Blogosphere know, losing weight is easier said than done. 

I quit smoking when I turned 60, so I expected to gain some weight. But that’s about the same time I started writing for real, and, when I started writing, I also started sitting. A lot. Now I, for one, happen to consider writing an exercise since I work my brain to write. Ergo, sitting, being part of my writing process, is exercise too, but I might be the only one who thinks that way. Regardless, the issue remains; the exercise of writing involves sitting.

So I sit. And I write. But there are times when I sit and I think which is not writing and not exercise because then it’s just sitting. And when I’m sitting but not writing and not exercising, I’m munching. 

Welllll…  When I’m sitting and thinking but not writing and not exercising because it’s just sitting and munching but not drinking, I have to wash all that down with something.   

 

That’s why ancient scribes invented beer.

So when I sit and not write and think and not exercise and munch and wash all that stuff down with beer, I’m actually getting my daily sitting/writing exercise because I’m reaching and lifting and chewing, but still, it didn’t seem to work.

I had to get serious.

I switched to sugar substitutes, sugar-free gum, and diet soda; diet salad dressings, baked potato chips, and low-cal cookies; small bags of M&M’s, low-fat double-whipped triple-churned ice cream, and lite beer. I even cut my large double-pepperoni-and-sausage pizza intake to five a week, but still I lost no weight.

So, getting back to the doctor—remember the doctor?— Maggie says because Doc thinks I need to lose weight, and the sitting/writing exercise I get isn’t enough, she’s going to make me snacks and meals that are better for me, and will help me lose weight. And the worse part of all this, she thinks we’re going to have lots-o-fun.

 

“I didn’t marry you just to have you die on me now,” she told me. She’s been waiting for this like a kid waits for Christmas. She sees us going to the grocery store—hand-in-hand and all starry-eyed—picking out nothing but “healthy” food. I can’t wait.

The more wheat germ, the better, I say.

So to counter my over-weight condition, she bought all sorts of stuff to sprinkle on my food. Stuff I never heard of, like Organic Ground Premium Flaxseed with Omega-3 and Lignans.

What the hell is Flaxseed?
And Lignans sound like something you should eradicate
… like termites.

Oh, you think I’m exaggerating, do you? Here’s a text message she sent me the other day:

Morning honey ... I’m getting you Egg Beaters and low calorie low carb stuff. Low calorie bread is good. Wheat or whole grain ...Cheerios … diet soda is okay. They say in moderation, cheese is actually okay. I'll pick up more stuff as I come across them in my reading. Look at the labels. You don't want sugar in the first three ingredients and you should try to keep your carb amount not above 55 grams a day. So look at the labels.

Love you lots. Going for a run.

xoxoxo  

Going for a run.... The woman is effusive. You can almost hear the freaking excitement in her voice. I think she’s enjoying this more than sex. 

In addition to all this, the Doc gave me a list of foods I can and can’t have.

For instance:

I can have lean meats, fish packed in water, chicken without the skin (Who can eat fried chicken without the skin?), and few breads, like Melba toast. I guess the doc thinks I’m still teething, as well.

In place of bread, I can substitute beans or dried peas. So I tried that. I slapped some light mayonnaise on a couple of dried peas and tried to make a ham sandwich. It wasn’t easy because it was so hard to hold. It wasn’t very filling either, so I made another one.

What I can’t have is duck, goose, coconuts, avocados, lard and alcohol. No problem there … except for maybe—you guessed it—the alcohol.

 

So Maggie comes home from work one night, very tired. I offer to order Chinese, but now, I have to see if they have dietary meals. Of course, all I need do is ask.

“Ha-row, Rucky Dragon.”

“Yes, I’d like to place an order for delivery.”

“What you rike?”

“Do you have any dietary dinners?”

“Di-a-tery?”

“Yes … low-fat”

“Ro-Fat? I’m solly, no Ro-Fat here.”

“You don’t have any low-fat dinners?”

“Ro-Fat work here no more. Rives in Okrahoma now.”

“No! No! ... Low-fat MEALS.” 

“Ro-Fat no cook. Dishwasher. Quit rast week. You want order something? Robster? Pork flied lice? Egg loll maybe?”

I decided on steamed veggies. Maggie was so happy, she poured Flaxseed all over it; made it crunchy, so I pretended it was fried chicken.

All in all, I expect things will work themselves out. Maggie is a pretty good cook, so I’m sure she’ll be able to do something with me in the next few weeks, even if it’s just rolling me out to the car for my next doctor’s appointment.

DB

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Where Does the Rewriting Stop?

The first draft of my second novel is finished. Now begins the search for perfection, that unattainable point where the rewriting stops.

So, where is that, exactly?

For the most part, rewriting comes before proofing, and concerns punctuation and spelling and word choice, and in the later stages, formatting, consistency, and continuity. The obvious stuff. Then there’s the part of the writing process that drives me batty; when my mind makes changes to something I have already written and moved past. This usually occurs in the early morning hours, during that space of time between being asleep and being awake, and come from that dusty corner of the mind where the remnants of dreams live. They are wisps of thought, misty images of scenes, and they commingle with my consciousness as I wake. They are suggestions that task me when I open my eyes, and they are as fleeting as the dreams they come from. 

So I write them down.

I read somewhere that writers should never ignore their dreams. They are pure creation, and they reveal themselves for a reason. As a writer, dismissing them is foolish. For my money, this applies to rewrites as well.

I mentioned earlier that my next novel is in rewrites. I woke the other morning with the thought of my protagonist’s early intro into the story. She does a job she does not care for. She doesn’t hate it because she understands the necessity for it, and likens it to the average American worker who is good at a job that they don’t enjoy. My early morning epiphany suggested I needed to drive that point home a bit more early on, in order to enrich the character, and give the changes she goes through more impact.       

To emphasize the point, I’ll share with you an anecdote a friend shared with me. He said Jeffery Deaver (The Bone Collector, The October List) once told him that he would edit his novels right up to the time they went to print if he could. 

All things considered, I suppose that’s where the rewriting stops … for that edition.

Best Regards,

DB

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Stetsons and Stilettos, Pantomimes and Phrases

Your novel is available on internet sites, and maybe a real bookstore or two. It’s picking up a little momentum, your Facebook page rocks, and your reviews are 4s & 5s across the board. You are pushing your brand, and life is good. But what do you, as a writer, use to set yourself apart, other than your writing? Is there something about you, outside of your novel, that makes people take note? Makes folks recognize you on the street?   

Several of us who have books published with Intrigue Publishing hooked up a week or so ago to discuss stealing (he-he) “borrowing,” an idea our femme fatale counterparts came up with. They, the gals, thought it would be a good idea to join forces to do a little marketing, so they formed the Book Divas on Tour; their mission—to promote their work as a group. They felt they’d have a broader appeal if they offered a little something extra. They came up with the tour idea. Four writers for the price of one. More bang-for-the-buck, as they say. So we, the guys, formed Meet Myster Write.

(Get the wordplay? Myster Write? Mister Right? Mystery writers? … never mind).

The idea is to tour and make ourselves available to book clubs, bookstores, coffee shops, libraries … anywhere readers gather to talk about reading, writing, the writing process, publishing; anything. We think it might catch on. We’re not billing it as books for sale, although we might just keep a few copies in the trunk of the car, just in case.

When the email organizing the meet came along, it included suggestions of physical items that lent themselves to the image of the mystery genre; things such as trench coats and Fedoras, leather jackets and switchblades, .38s and blackjacks. I thought it was a great idea, especially since I owned a Fedora and leather jacket, and not a .38 or a switchblade. But the Fedora was too dressy for the jacket, so I settled for my Stetson since it looks much like a Fedora. Yep. That’s me in the pic. Bogie would be proud. Those other good-lookin' writers are Larry Matthews, Dana King, and Austin Camacho. 

I have decided to adopt the Stetson and the jacket as unofficial trademarks; something I can use to promote myself, an idea I’m beginning to warm to. One of the Divas is already doing this. She loves her stilettos. And she points them out every chance she gets. That’s self-promotion, although it mystifies me how you gals can walk in those things all day long. Now when I see a pair of 5” heels or hear the name, I think of her. The shoes are her unofficial trademark. Johnny Carson’s golf swing, Charlie Chaplin’s unique walk, The Rifleman’s Winchester … all unofficial trademarks. If you hear someone say, “I’ll be back,” in a heavy Austrian accent, who do you think of? Or, “Excuuuuuse! Meeeeee!” Do you remember who said that? It became his trademark line.Trademarks such as these come along naturally. They just happen. But nothing says you can’t create one to suit your unique persona. So I have decided to use the Stetson and the jacket. And I already know it works.

Last weekend I attended the Bay to Ocean Writer’s Conference on Maryland’s eastern shore  sporting my new trademark look. As I walked between buildings to the next panel, I heard someone behind me say, “I thought I recognized that hat!” It was one of the Myster Write authors. Oddly enough, he has a mystery series in which he equipped his protagonist with a trademark of his own: a pair of wrap-around Oakley sunglasses.

What’s your unofficial trademark?

(Sorry. The hat’s taken.)

Best Regards,

DB

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Eulogy for Zeake ... Part of the Family

Writers of mysteries and thrillers employ Death in their work all the time. I am no different. Death always finds its way into my stories in one form or another, but when I write it, I never consider how much pain is involved with Death. That changed today. As a writer, I compose scenarios of Death; I set the stage, position the players, and direct the action.

Zeake - 2010
Ten-Years-old

But that … is fiction.

Yesterday was Saturday. I watched over my son’s dog Zeake for the final day of his life. Zeake was a fourteen-year-old Yellow Lab; Dysplasia had taken his hips, he could barely walk, and his body was shutting down. He would not eat and he threw up any water he drank. I watch him constantly, trying to keep him comfortable, carrying him outside, and cleaning up when he had an accident in the house. We scheduled with the vet for today, Sunday morning, to send Zeake Home where he’ll be able to run and play with his golf balls again. It was the single hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life. Zeake is family, always has been and always will be, and I miss him terribly, as evidenced by the blathering mess I have become at this writing.

As a writer, most of my work mirrors reality. I draw from things that actually happen and mold them to suit my purpose. Without reality, there can be no fiction. But unlike fiction, reality is irreversible, and in matters of death, there is no reincarnate as there can be in fiction. So for today, at least, reality and fiction have nothing in common for me. If a fictional character I have invested in dies, I may feel a twinge of momentary concern at their demise, but as I turn the page, the feeling wanes. I take no stock in it, nor do I place anything higher than entertainment value on that which is unreal, even if of my own creation.

Today, there is no page to turn.

Some writers of romance are deft enough to evoke lasting feelings of anguish in their readers at the death of a character. I cannot. I am not that good. But I do know that for today, and for the near future until Time does its work, I will feel the sting of reality, and the unbearable heartache of losing someone I love dearly.... And I use the word ‘someone,’ intentionally.   

I feel for my son, Corey, most. He raised Zeake from a puppy, and taught him a multitude of things.

He taught him to retrieve beer from the fridge, but occasionally, Zeake would put a canine tooth through the can, and happily bring a spraying mess into the living room.

He fetched the golf balls Corey used when practicing his chip shots in the yard. Zeake never chewed them. He had one of his own for that. I remember being there when a neighbor asked if he could rent Zeake for that exact purpose.

Zeake would “speak” upon hand commands, fetch the paper, and one day when I was at Corey’s house, Corey sent him to meet the mail carrier truck. The mail-woman was new and a little afraid of Zeake at first. From the porch, Corey called to her. “Give him the mail!” She reached down and Zeake took it in his Lab’s soft mouth, and trotted it back to Corey. 

“Amazing,” the woman said. 

 I thought so too.

Once Corey said to me, “Watch this.” He told Zeake to fetch his shoes. Happy with tail wagging, Zeake returned with Corey’s shoes. They were different colors, but there was one left shoe, and one right.

Being a Lab, Zeake was a water dog. If he saw water, he made a beeline to it. It was all Corey could do to keep him on shore. I used to take my own lab Murphy to the beach with Corey and Zeake on rare occasion. Zeake would fetch the balls we threw out into the water, until he saw kids. Then he’d swim out to play with them, and forget all about us.  

The things he could do are too numerous to mention, but I think the thing that touched me most about that amazing dog, was his love for a small toy he had from when he was a pup; a stuffed red heart that he cherished. Another dog may have torn it to pieces, but Zeake loved it, and took care of it. We looked for that heart before leaving for the vet this morning, but could not find it. It broke my heart.

Zeake was more than a dog. For Corey, and all of us, he was a friend who greeted you at the door with a wagging tail and kisses, a part of the family, same as a brother or sister or mother or father. I know Corey will not be the same after sending Zeake Home, and I tried my best through my own tears and sobs to assure him that this was best for Zeake. I know he believed me, but that didn’t make it any easier.

I related something to him that I recalled reading that rings with undeniable truth. I knew this day would come, so it had a profound effect on me.

It’s titled:

THE 10 COMMANDMENTS OF DOG OWNERSHIP

I have taken the liberty of reprinting the last of them here.

 9. Take care of me when I get old. For you will grow old, too.

10. When I am old, or when I no longer enjoy good health, please do not make heroic efforts to keep me going. I am not having fun. Just see to it that my trusting life is taken gently. And be with me on that difficult journey when it’s time to say goodbye. Everything is easier for me when you are there. I will leave this earth knowing with my last breath that my fate was always safest in your hands.

And that’s how it happened. As difficult as it was for my son to let him go, he lay with Zeake, petting him and talking to him as the first needle sedated him, and the second….

On my way home, I found myself asking the question; “Why is Death so damn hard?”

The answer is...

… because we love.

R.I.P.

Zeakie Boy
2000 - 2014

It's so hard to let go....

I know this doesn't count as a blog ... but I just can't help myself!

I AM PUMPED!

My very first interview in a major magazine.

I'd act like I've done it before, but I HAVEN'T!


This is just TOO COOL!

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Why Twitter? Why Tweet.

Social Media.

It is the new way to market anything. LinkedIn, Facebook, Google+, there are more. But Twitter is rapidly becoming my favorite.

If you’ve read this blog before, you know I am a writer. Chain of Evidence, my debut effort, released last August. Since then I have been promoting the hell out of it on every platform I can access. I have several email addresses, a website, a blog, accounts on Google, LinkedIn, Crimespace, Goodreads, Gravitar, MARsocial, Meetups, Stumbleupon, YouTube, WordPress, Pinterest, two Facebook pages, (breath) and Twitter. Out of all these, Twitter is rising to the top as far as product exposure and branding, a word I seem to be hearing a lot lately.

I found not long ago that my on free Twitter account, I was limited to Following Two-thousand others. Up to that point in time, I was adhering to Twitter etiquette by Following everyone who Followed me. Made sense, since Twitter is all about numbers of Followers, and that it was only polite to Follow those who Follow you. The problem is, though, once you reach two thousand, that’s all you can Follow unless you want to pony up a few bucks, which I don’t. I gotta sell a few more books before that happens.

So I began looking at the Twitterers I Followed with a more discerning eye. I realized that most of the folks I Followed were writers like me, but some were artists … singers, actors, pretty faces … no one who could actually help promote me or do me any good. And after all, isn’t that what Twitter is supposed to do for you? So I began Unfollowing those who could not help me promote the book, to make room for those who could. Then one day, I saw it.

@AuthorAlliance Follows You.

Authors Alliance? I’m an author. Maybe they’ll ally with me.

So I clicked their link.

Author Alliance

@AuthorAlliance FOLLOWS YOU

#AuthorAlliance is where #Authors & #Readers come together. We promote 4 & 5 star #books in our tweets for readers' delight. #reviews#interviews #promotion

Earth · authoralliance.net

Wow! They promote books. I have a book. Let me Follow them and see what they’re about.

I went to their website and discovered that they did free book reviews. Long story short, I asked a young lady named Marlena H if she would be so kind as to review my novel. She accepted and posted it on the AA website. That was in September. She, and Author Alliance, and their RT’ers (that’s Re-Tweeters for you non-Twitter type) Tweeted the hell out of it, and still do. But that’s not all. Marlena tweeted that she was looking for authors to interview on her blog. I raised my hand and became her first interview. She still tweets that as well. If you follow me @dbcorey, you’ve more than likely seen a few.

That’s how it all started between Twitter and me. Following (no, not Twitter Following … just regular following); following you’ll see all the contacts I’ve made via Twitter in just two short months. All of the following (he-he-he) either reviewed the novel, or interviewed me on their blog, or both. Daria DiGiovanni interviewed me on her BlogTalk Radio show for an hour talking about Chain of Evidence and the writing process, and she Tweeted that for weeks leading up to the show.

Alana Munro

@AMauthor

Author, Blogger, Book Marketer, Mummy, Support-a-holic - counting my blessings, following my dreams and sharing inspirational insights.

alanamunroauthor.com

 Alana's Interview

 Daria DiGiovanni

@dariaanne FOLLOWS YOU

Passionate Pisces, Patriot, Author, Blogger, Internet Radio Host, Founder of #Writestream Radio, Co-Founder #WBTN Radio. #CDA#WBTN #CLFA

Florida · dariadigiovanni.com

Daria's interview

Bravebird Publishing

@BravebirdPub FOLLOWS YOU

We publish Women's Fiction from a feminist perspective because every girl deserves a little fiction in her life.

Chicago, IL · bravebirdpublishing.com

Bravebird Interview

Basically, it’s “Ask and Ye Shall receive.” Look for these folks. Search them out. Ask them to review your book and interview you or have you on their BlogTalk Radio show. It’s good promotion, and it’s just plain fun. Plus you get to meet a whole bunch of really cool people. I think you’ll find they are eager to help. If you think about it, they are promoting themselves by promoting you. They want to be known, and they want to be known because of books. Without you, they’d probably have to blog about food, yard work, or automotive repair.

Oh …

Don’t overlook LinkedIn. A lovely woman named Marni Graff contacted me to “Connect” with her. She also reviews novels and conducts author interviews, and posts them on her blog. Look for mine come February 9^th at AuntieM Writes.

Best Regards,

DB

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For the New Year – Immerse Yourself in a Good Book

 

People often say they read novels to “escape” into another life, or go to another world, or become another person, and for a little while, they leave their worries and cares behind. 

Turns out, there is more Fact to this, than Fiction. 

Last year about this time, I wrote my first blog as a published-author-to-be, titled 2013. I went back and re-read it, and found that it runs in

the same vein as this article. Following is a short excerpt.

“They [authors] entertain the masses by taking them out of their humdrum, everyday existence into the dynamic lives of the people they’d like to be: cops and robbers, astronauts and aliens, witches and warlocks ... hustlers and hookers.

We all wonder ... what would it be like?

The author shows us. Takes us there, and we become that which we seek; if for just a little while. The author has the power to transform our ordinary worlds into something extra-ordinary, and we seek them out in every bookstore we encounter.”

Here I speak of authors, but if you plug in the word ‘books’ nothing changes, because a book is the medium … the magic wand, the door to another world.

Embedded is a link to the article from MailOnline: How a book really can change your life, by Sarah Griffiths (Thanks Ken). It tells of a study by researchers at Emory University in Atlanta, and how they used Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) to see the effects that reading a good book has, and how it can “transport” the reader.

Hopefully this post will do the same.

Have a Safe and Happy New Year, everyone!

Best Regards,

DB

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Illustration used with permission from Debbie Ridpath Ohi at Inkygirl.com

Christmas 2013

Seems we never have enough time. I haven’t written a post in a couple weeks because I targeted December to finish the 1^st draft of the next novel, and whadda ya know? It’s here.

So’s Christmas.

Get the tree, decorate the tree, drink the eggnog, go gift shopping, wrap presents, decorate house inside, drink the eggnog, go gift shopping, decorate house outside, drink the eggnog, strings lights, curse, find the bad bulb, drink the eggnog, go gift shopping, set up Nativity scene, go food shopping, drink the eggnog, buy more lights, find the bad bulb in new lights, curse, bake cookies….

 I don’t know how Maggie does it.

Oops!

Football’s on.

Gotta run.
See you next week.

Best Regards,

DB

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4am Thanksgiving Day

Didn’t get up till five.

Let Murphy out. Turn on TV, wash face, brush teeth, make coffee. Let Murphy in. Maggie and I are alone this Thanksgiving Day. My kids are grown with kids of their own, and they’re off to the extended In-Laws to visit grandparents. Funny … last I looked, I was a grandparent too. But they’ll be over later. Hope I’m still awake. Maggie’s kids are down to see their dad in Virginia and changed their plans. Now they won’t be over till Friday after. I hope there’s some turkey left.

I find it a little sad. But on the other hand, there is no early morning craziness; no jockeying for breakfast positions, no bumping into one another in the kitchen, no interference from additional bodies taking up space while trying to prepare the Thanksgiving meal—no bickering no fighting, no competition for the couch to take my tryptophan nap. Today there is none of that … and I find it a little sad.

Bring pellet stove fuel in from trunk of car. It’s freezing outside at 5am and the sky is crystal clear. Stars are like diamonds set on black cloth and I’m sure the biggest brightest one is really Venus. Or maybe another. But not Mars. Mars is red. Fill stove. Start fire. Bring food in from the shed, the veggies and fruit and turkey. Maggie tells me to bring in the cinnamon rolls for breakfast. I bring them in first.

Chop! Chop! Chop! Onions and celery. Wait for cinnamon rolls and pour another mug of coffee—add Baileys. Have a cinnamon roll. Have another cinnamon roll. Share with Murphy. Maggie cooks up the sausage and wonders if we have enough. There are only two of us. It should be enough, but she doubles it anyway. Clean turkey and I am thankful for the new gooseneck faucet I installed on the kitchen sink two days ago, even though I cursed a lot putting it in. I hate plumbing. Go online to find out what time 98-Rock plays Alice’s Restaurant by Arlo Guthery. Probably noon. It’s a Thanksgiving Day tradition around my house. I set my smartphone alarm. Siri will call.

Maggie does the job I promised yesterday to do. She assembles the ingredients for the stuffing. I feel bad because I was writing this blog. I take responsibility for my promise and take over. She smiles and kisses me on the cheek and says she’s my sous chef. I mix the ingredients; add the onions and celery and sausage. I need an egg to bind the ingredients. Maggie’s standing next to me whisking an egg in a cup. She can read my mind.

Preheat oven. Pour an eggnog. Add extra bourbon. Stir. Fill turkey with stuffing. Oil to crisp skin. Put in oven, set timer for 30 minutes to baste. Wash dishes to avoid too many later. Last-minute house cleaning missed yesterday. Maggie takes shower. I pour another eggnog. Add more bourbon. Update blog. Share Alice’s Restaurant on Facebook, I love that song. Respond to several posts from friends. Wish folks a Happy Thanksgiving.

Turn on Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.  

Don’t know if I’ll be back to this today. Probably not. It is Thanksgiving, after all. So I will pass on my good wishes now.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my friends, and to all who are to become my friends.

God Bless.

Best Regards,

DB

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The Dulles Christmas Expo

What fun this was. I've been to trade shows and expos before, but I was never on the merchant side of the table, although, I confess, eight-hours on your feet can take a toll.

On Friday last, I manned a table filled with books published by Intrigue Publishing, and assisted Austin Camacho—occasionally asking far too many questions—promoting twelve novels written by four separate authors: one of which was mine, one by Penny Clover Petersen, one written by C.A. Vestraete, and nine—yes, count ‘em, nine—by Austin Camacho. We schmoozed any passerby that showed an interest in the bright and sundry covers arrayed across the table, and I gained a bit of insight as to the popularity of Austin as an author when several folks came looking for him, having bought one or two of his novels last year.

I engaged folks from around the country who were shopping for Christmas. Some were curious, asking questions about the books, the plots, and the characters. Some bought books for themselves or others as Christmas gifts, and the real kick for me, other than scribbling my name on the Title Page, was chatting it up with these folks. Most were avid readers, but some were published writers; some were aspiring writers, and still others were reluctant writers that seemed to be searching for a gentle nudge. We chatted about, well, writing, of course. And publishing. Then there were several guys who were retired Navy, and we swapped sea stories for a short while, being a Navy Vet myself. What I found interesting in regard to that was that it was Austin’s book, The Piranha Assignment, that sparked the conversation about submarines. Methinks I see writing a military thriller in my not-too-distant future.    

All in all, I found the event rewarding on many levels. Yeah, Chain of Evidence was a favorite, and shoppers bought a bunch of copies, but chatting with folks is the part I really enjoyed, not to mention the toddler running around with the squeaky shoes who put a broad smile on my face. And I found that if you just offer a smile to someone passing by, the odds are very good, that you’ll get one in return.

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