The woman across the table exclaimed, "Wow. Now THERE's a great idea for a book." And she's right. It was. Just not for me. Someone, somewhere, sometime ought to write that book. But I won't. It's just not for me. But it made me start thinking about ideas for books. Many years ago, I told my older brother something my then-publisher had said: After your fifth book, you can support yourself with your writing. My brother, dripping sarcasm, said, "Well, Molleen do you really think you have five books IN you?" Hell yeah. And then there are all the ones OUT of me. Ideas bumping up against each other constantly. Something I saw or heard (or overheard) (eavesdropping is GREAT for picking up ideas) or read or misread or dreamt. Ideas are everywhere. Getting ideas isn't the problem. Not at all.