We all lead busy lives, and there are some weeks my life is way busier than others. I’m on an early flight to the Romantic Times convention in Kansas City this morning, and I had to do some creative multi-tasking to get everything ready in time.

And just when I thought I couldn’t add even one more thing to my to-do list, my publisher sent page proofs for The Spy Wore Blue my Lord and Lady Spy novella coming out in August. They were due yesterday. It’s a novella, so I knew it wouldn’t take me as long as a full-length book, but I still had to find some time to sit and read through it, making final corrections.

I remember the days when I had hours at my disposal to dedicate to writing, proofreading, revising. Now I’m lucky if I have one hour. So I multi-task.

My daughter is three and a half, and bathroom independent. Yes! But she still likes me close by when she uses the potty. And, like any kid, she sometimes wants to sit in there and sing or tell herself stories or whatnot. She might be in there ten minutes, but I had better be close by. She will check. So what do I do. Grab my computer and sit outside the bathroom door and write.

Right now her favorite game is Hello Kitty Bingo. The game is for 2-4 players, but we usually have only three—Baby G, Mickey Mouse, and me. Like and three-year-old, she has a short attention span. She wants to play, but then she finds something more interesting and runs off to investigate for five minutes. Eventually she remembers the game and comes back to continue play. I used to sit and try to catch a few minutes’ of sleep while she read a book or colored a picture. Now I open my laptop and write a few paragraphs before she returns.

And, of course, we have a couple of activities every week. One of them is gymnastics. I love to watch her, but she’s not actually doing any gymnastics for much of the class. In the 3-4 year old class, they run around, sing songs, and learn to wait for their turn on the balance beam or bars. So while I’m waiting for her to show everyone her front support, I read a page of the novella.

And that’s how the work gets done. Anyone else a master multi-tasker?

After dinner the other night, the Norwegian and I were sitting on the back porch enjoying a rainstorm as it blew across the lake. The rain made the air smell heavenly. We had wine and it was so nice and romantic… Until, from out of nowhere, a frog landed on my head and got caught in my hair.

The scene involved a lot of flailing and screaming, “GET IT OFF ME! GET IT OFF ME!” The neighbors must’ve thought I was being murdered.  Finally, the slimy thing managed to free himself from my “Venus fly trap hair” (as my good friend, Kathleen, so aptly dubbed it). I ran into the house, traumatized and feeling quite violated.

I don’t know if the frog jumped or fell from the porch ceiling. All I know is he was on me and that was not okay. I have a phobia of slimy creatures. The clinical term for it is herpetophobia, “a morbid fear of reptiles and similar vertebrates, such as amphibians.” The phobia causes mild to severe anxiety and panic attacks. Yes, indeed it does.  That is absolutely correct. Personally, I think herpetophobia sounds like an STD. Accordingly, I avoid all things remotely reptilian and amphibious.  ;)

Ironically, earlier on Freaky Frog Day, I’d been thinking about how I should make more time to enjoy our porch in this nice weather, before summer descends like a wet blanket.  Our little spring-fed lake is gorgeous. It’s the crowning jewel of our back yard. That night, the rain made it magical. When the Norwegian ventured outside, I thought it was the perfect time to share a romantic moment. For two.

Of course, I hadn’t been out there five minutes before the dang frog landed on my head. Talk about a mood killer. It proves that I’m much better off appreciating nature from afar – say through the kitchen window or from the air-conditioned family room through the closed glass doors. Lizards, snakes, frogs? No thank you. Not cute. I don’t want to think about them. I don’t want to look at them. Most of all, I don’t want them to violate my personal space.

Phobias are strange, aren’t they? In my rational mind, when I’m
safe in my air-conditioned family room, I know the lizards in our back yard are not Komodo Dragons; the only snakes I’ve seen out there are black snakes, which are good for controlling the rodent population; and the frogs are not creatures from the Black Lagoon. But how can one be rational when we all know a snake is a snake is a snake. And other slimy things that fly at you in the dark and get tangled in your hair? As far as I’m concerned, they’re all deadly because I nearly kill myself trying to get away from them.

I can’t trace my aversion back to a traumatic childhood incident. Unless you count the time my high school art teacher captured a bunch of geckos, tied strings to their legs and thumbtacked the free end of the string to the table so that we could draw from “live models.”  I was so freaked out I couldn’t breathe. Then there was the time when I was all grown up and working as a newspaper reporter and someone wanted to take a picture of me holding a baby alligator. It may have been a baby,  only about ten or twelve inches long (and its mouth was muzzled), but all I could see was “GIANT LIZARD!” No how. No way. I wasn’t going anywhere near that thing.  So, you can imagine the herpetophobia trauma-level of the frog-in-the-hair incident.

I know there are programs to help people overcome phobias…they usually involve confronting fears head-on.  My treatment would probably involve some form of human to creature contact. That’s where I disembark. That’s my stop. Instead, I’ll continue to go out of my way to maintain my personal space so that the creatures and I can coexist separately. For the sake of full disclosure, I still venture into the backyard to take out my dog. I still clip herbs from my herb garden. I simply carry a long dowel so I can rustle the plants and warn the wildlife before I stick my hands and face into their territory. I don’t hit or poke or harm them in any way. No contact. This is the literal meaning of I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.  Actually, mine is a four-foot pole. So far, the arrangement seems to be working well for everyone. I have consoled myself by calling Freaky Frog Day a fluke. However, I haven’t chanced another nighttime porch date with the Norwegian. My waving a four-foot pole wouldn’t be very romantic. If you’re thinking something else, you have a dirty mind. But that’s okay because we’re all friends here.

How about you? Do you have any phobias? I know it can be uncomfortable talking about them. So, I’ll give away not one but two books of the winner’s choice to one person who posts.

Saturday I went shopping with my mother, sister, and my sister’s good friend for bridesmaid and wedding dresses. My sister is having a big wedding ceremony in November, and the preparations are well underway. I’m the matron of honor and Baby Galen has been deemed well-behaved enough to act as one of the flower girls.

After fortifying ourselves with lunch and a drink (mine sans alcohol because I mistakenly believed I would work when I got home), we trekked to the bridal store, where, fortunately, I had convinced my sister to make appointments.

The bridesmaids went first. I told my sister I’d wear whatever she wanted as long as she didn’t put me in yellow or orange. She wanted a bright blue. We tried on a half dozen dresses, found the style we liked, but when we tried it on in blue, my sister balked.

Uh-oh! First crisis of the day. The blue did not work for her. She and the groom had decided on blue and now she was going to change that decision. Without him. She really liked the plum color of one of the dresses we tried on. We all tried it on again and decided we’d go with sangria (the fancy name for maroon/plum).

Next we headed over to the bride’s area so she could try on wedding gowns. Believe it or not, but the first one she tried on was The One. We could all feel it. Still, we encouraged her to try on about twelve more. I helped on most of them and was complimented on my corseting skills, but I have to say my arms were sore the next morning.

So many dresses looked good on her (bitch!), so it was a hard decision. But guess what? Sometimes the first one is The One.

So we got to move on to the really fun stuff—what were the flower girls going to wear?

How many dresses did you have to try before you found The One? I must have tried on 15-20. Did anyone wear a gown your mother or grandmother wore?

So yesterday on my Facebook page I asked for blog topic suggestions and I got so many great ones, many of which were questions, I thought I’d just tackle them here.

Tammy asked: the ups and downs of being a mother who works from home

Well, this could clearly be it’s own blog topic and I’ve tackled some of it at my other blog, Peanut Butter on the Keyboard. I can’t speak for other working moms, but I will say that when you do something creative, like writing, that sometimes tapping into that creative energy is very challenging if I’ve had a difficult day with my kiddos. There are plenty of jobs I’ve done (when I worked full-time) that I could do while tired or drained or whatever, but writing isn’t one of them. At least not on a consistent basis. So I have to find ways to recharge myself on those tough days. Writing is similar to motherhood though in one very specific way, you’re never done. You don’t get a vacation from being a mom and though I take some days off every now and again, I don’t get time off from being a writer.

Susana asked: I’d like to read about your upcoming projects or ideas you’re mulling over or thoughts on books you’re reading.

Great question! I’ve got a lot of irons in the fire right now. My next release, A Little Bit Sinful, comes out very soon and it’s the sequel to A Little Bit Wicked. I’m working on the final book in that series right now, A Little Bit Scandalous. Those are the books in my Forbidden Love series that features three couples each with their own foray into forbidden love. It’s been a lot of fun to write because they’re books that focus more on the developing relationship than my longer historicals that have lots of meaty subplots. Then in June I have The Secrets of Mia Danvers coming out, that launches my Dangerous Liaisons series which centers around the hunt of Jack the Ripper.

Cynthia asked: I’d like to know how you overcome writing blocks. When the words just won’t come no matter what….

That happens sometimes, doesn’t it, Cynthia? Well, first I’m not a big believe it “writer’s block” though I do know that on occasion the words stall out for some reason or another. My best advice is to write anyways. That’s for the most common blocks, the I-don’t-really-want-to-write-today blahs. Then you have the stalled on a scene blocks, so sometimes I’ll try to brainstorm out the problem and if that doesn’t work, I’ll just skip that scene until later. Now when you have a real block, one that’s generally rooted in emotional stuff, that’s a little different.

True story – two years ago, The Professor and I took in two girls from the foster-care system. We were intent on adopting them, but initially they weren’t free and clear. To say things were stressful is a colossal understatement. Toss in the fact that we’d never been parents before and suddenly we had a toddler and an infant, we were emotional strung out. Like I said above, when our emotions are under assault, it’s very hard to find the words. All I can tell you is to write as much as you can. Sometimes all you can do is write about the weather or your feelings or whatever, but eventually the words will come back and you’ll be able to get back to it.

Angela asked: Your favorite/least favorite part of writing a book.

The easy answer is, I love the book when it’s done and about to come out. I hate the book while I’m writing it. But it is often a little more complex than that. Sometimes there are some really magical moments when writing the rough drafts, most of the time though the real magic (at least for me) happens during the subsequent drafts. I like to write the parts that come out great, the parts where I know I’ve nailed the characters and the dialogue is snappy and even I’m entertained.

(Joey asked about a blog of my favorite heroes and heroines, but I have a guest blog coming about that sometime soon…)

Nicole asked: Maybe write how you cope with your stress when you are stuck on a chapter and loose sleep! What do you do to relax!

I touched on some of this in Cynthia’s question, but relaxing, yes, that’s so important. I’m trying to exercise more to relieve my stress, walking and that definitely helps. Being with The Professor chills me out pretty good, he has a way of recharging my battery (and I don’t mean that in the dirty sense. ) Another good thing for me to do if I’m stuck on a chapter is I brainstorm with my writer buds. Shana and Margo and Emily know more about my crazy than they probably would like too and I’m a very needy writer.

Rhianna asked: Hand-in-hand with Joey’s idea… I love to see which characters an author wishes she’d been the creator of.

Oh wow, this could be a HUGE list. Um, can I just start with all of the characters in the Harry Potter books? Pretty much all of Suzanne Enoch’s heroes. Katniss Everdeen. Yeah, I could go on with this forever.

Cherrie asked: how to get over the fear of putting your work out to a editor/publisher etc…… as in…I got my book wrote, critiqued by my writer groups, read by friends that know the subject…so Im ready to let it go…now what?

Fake it, ’till you make it. That’s really the best policy here. I’ll be really honest, writing (as in the career) is scary as hell all the time for a variety of reasons. The fear never goes away. So really you just have to learn to either cope with it, or ignore it. Sometimes it’s best to ask for help if you can’t do it yourself. I know that before Emily sold her first book, I threatened to mail her manuscript off to a certain agent if she didn’t do it. That might not work for everyone, but we’ve always had that kind of relationship. So maybe your friend needs someone to sit with her while she sends it off. Sometimes talking through the very worst thing that can happen (in this case a rejection) can help. Rejection stings, but it doesn’t kill you and just know that all your favorite authors have gotten a slew of rejections too. It’s just part of the gig.

Melissa asked: Where you get some of your ideas for your stories, When you are stuck or at a standstill what you do to get out of it. When writing your stories do they change as you are writing? Or do they go as you want them to at the beginning? Have you ever used real life situations in your stories?…those are a few off the top of my head.

My ideas come from everywhere. Sometimes I start with nothing and just brainstorm the whole thing (usually talking that out with another writer), other times I’ll start with a character and build from that. I love to bounce ideas off of other writers, it’s the best way for me to brainstorm. For whatever reason I don’t do well brainstorming alone, I need that interaction. But if I’m stuck alone I have some tricks, I do the list of twenty (make a list of 20 ideas for that particular problem and don’t stop to analyze, write everything down), I have a box of index cards with character types (think stereotypes like wallflower heroine) and plot hooks (secret baby) and complications (dead body!) and I’ll pick some at random and see what I come up with. It’s kind of a fun exercise.

I so appreciate all the questions/suggestions because sometimes (especially when I’m on deadline) I just can’t think of anything. So to all the rest of you, if you could ask a question of one of your favorite authors, what would it be?

Jaunties, today we are thrilled to welcome bestselling historical romance author Grace Burrowes to the blog. Read on to learn about her newest endeavor and to find out how you can win a copy of Lady Eve’s Indiscretion.

Writers talk about “the book of my heart,” and “the book that writes itself,” usually in awed, respectful tones. We aren’t as vocal about the hard books, but some books come kicking and screaming to the page, even some novellas.

My first historical romance series, about the Duke and Duchess of Moreland’s eight children, will wrap up this fall with “Lady Jenny’s Christmas Portrait.” Perhaps realizing that the series is coming to a close, or maybe out of genuine curiosity, readers have started asking me about the story behind courtship and marriage of Percival, Duke of Moreland, and his duchess, Esther.

I came up with a house party romance for Their Graces, and was quite pleased with the results. First, it fit with the stories I’d crafted for the series going forward—Percival was not in expectation of the title, and he was a seasoned cavalry officer—and second, it was a fun, romantic read.

Madam Editor was pleased too, but she also pointed out that I’d left a lot of questions unanswered: When did Percival’s two by-blows, Devlin and Maggie, join the ducal household? When did the title befall Percival and Esther? How did Esther cope with these changes?

I didn’t want to write that story, though it took me a while to figure out why: I’d never written a romance for a married couple. Married people love each other. They are living the happily ever after. THESE ARE THE RULES, and they are the rules, says I, despite the fact that in my day job, I’ve handled the legal side of divorces for twenty years.

I recall all too well, though, that awful, uh-oh feeling when a committed relationship hits the rocks. It’s a far, far worse loneliness than when a casual relationship becomes troubled, or when life presents a stretch of solo years. I pondered that miserable, wretched, upset feeling at some length, and then began to write.

“The Duke and His Duchess” is the result, a novella of about 35,000 words. We come upon Percival and Esther when they’re broke and exhausted, overwhelmed with four small children, an aging duke who’s losing his memory, an heir whose heart is not strong, and an estate suffering significant neglect. Add to this two illegitimate children Percival and Esther were unaware of, Esther’s low spirits and lack of energy, and things are bleak indeed.

Some happily ever after, Madam Author.

The novella pretty much wrote itself. From those beginnings, which probably resonate with every married person who’s ever read a romance, Percival and Esther face choice after choice, and what saves them is that they choose to keep their faith in each other and in their love. They show courage despite fear, understanding despite resentment, and determination when giving up beckons.

The happily ever after won this time around is sweeter than the first, because now, now, I know that Percival and Esther’s devotion has a direct impact on the lives of their many children. And when the children grow up and face their own challenges, the example set by the Duke and Duchess helps the Windham siblings choose love too.

What about you? Does the romance crafted for a married couple appeal to you, or would you rather read about a courtship romance?

To one commenter, I’ll send a signed copy of “Lady Eve’s Indiscretion,” the most recent Windham sibling romance.

So the other night The Professor and I were in bed (get your heads out of the gutter, this isn’t *that* kind of blog) and he says to me, “we need a hobby.” Now before we had kids we went to movies. A lot. It was pretty much out entire courtship. Lots and lots of movies, which was great because it gave us stuff to talk about while we were getting to know each other and well, we learned about each other too based on the movies we saw, liked, didn’t like. Flash forward to now, post children and well, we might get to the theatre every other month, if that. And well, since we don’t get a lot of conversation time with just the two of us, then sitting quietly while watching a movie takes up what could be valuable chatting time.

So back to our conversation. I suggest Scrabble. We used to play a lot. We enjoy it and we’re good opponents for one another. And it works for him because his favorite writer is CS Lewis and we heard once that Lewis and his wife used to play Scrabble together – of course they played where any language was game. The Professor and I only play in English though we aspire. But we haven’t played in a while.

So we discuss other options…gardening? No, I’m not really into digging in the dirt, it just doesn’t work for me. There are worms. Eww! Cooking together? I’d love to have him help more, but he’s not really that skilled in the kitchen and frankly right now I’ve got a pretty sweet deal – I cook, he cleans the kitchen. So that really takes that off the table. We could make model cars. No, I’m not thinking either one of us would be good at that.

Then on a silly whim I say, “well, we could always become amateur sleuths.” He rolls over with a big smile, “that’s it!”

We watch a little TV, I toss out a few more suggestions: we love museums but we don’t really live near very many, a poker group but we don’t have many friends who live close enough, and the list went on. He finally said, “nothings as good as the sleuthing idea…”

So there you have it, The Professor and I are not amateur sleuths. So far we don’t have any cases, but I’m sure any day now they’ll start rolling in. Hey, we’re clever people.

Okay so what kinds of things do you and your spouse enjoy doing together? And keep it clean, people!

We have a pair of sandhill cranes that have a nest near the lake behind our house. Where you see one bird, the other is always close by. They strut around the neighborhood, and when they return from a journey, they always announce themselves as they swoop in.   I love their quirky, rusty squawks. It’s such a strange mournful (and loud) cry,  I’m always compelled to get up and look out the window when I hear them.

Something about them tickles me.

According to Wikipedia: “Mated pairs of cranes engage in “unison calling.” The cranes stand close together, calling in a synchronized and complex duet. The female makes two calls for every single call of the male.”

Imagine that. I guess some things are universal no matter the species.

We named the birds Wacky and Nunu after a ridiculous local appliance store commercial where this guy jumps around and says, “If you didn’t buy from us, you paid too much! And that’s wacky-nunu!” I have no idea what  the literal translation of wacky-nunu is, but our daughter and her friends found it hilarious, and we ended up naming the sandhills accordingly.  That was five years ago. Since then, Wacky and Nunu have become members of our family – well, more like distant cousins, but we adore them nonetheless.

Before they built their nest, they used to come and go, sometimes disappearing for months at a time. But about a year ago, Wacky and Nunu decided to settle down. They built their lake-side nest in our backyard and started their family.  Just the other day, I got my first look at their baby. She was out walking around (it seems Wacky and Nunu aren’t very good parents and frequently leave her alone while they gallivant). I was so excited to get a look at the baby, I took a picture of
her and immediately texted it our daughter (who is away at school). I meant to say, “Look, it’s Wacky and Nunu’s baby!” Somehow my phone autocorrected to, “Look, it’s Wacky and Nunu’s Judy!” So, yes, you guessed it. We named the baby Judy. Wacky, Nunu and Judy are a happy family. I’m so glad they decided to settle in our backyard.

Do you have any strange obsessions? If not, what tickles your funny bone? I’m giving away a $10 Amason.com or Barnes & Noble gift card (winner’s choice) to one person who posts.

Yes, this is *another* New Year’s Resolution post…Listen it’s January, what do you expect? One of the things I’ve been struggling with (since we got our girls) is consistently cooking dinner. I don’t even really remember much of the first 6 months, it’s a blur. I was tired. Really, really tired. But hodge-podging meals or going to restaurants isn’t a great plan, not to mention it gets really expensive (resolution #2 – budget living). So I’m getting back to meal planning. I know how to do this. I did it most of the time when we first got married. If I have it planned, written down and the ingredients are already in my house, then I just cook it. Well, most of the time.

And well, cooking most nights of the week also has another benefit – we eat healthier and that’s always on everyone’s resolution list. The Professor isn’t great with left-overs so I try to make meals that are enough for one night or at least freeze well so I can pretend it’s new another night. So here’s my meal planning plan, as it were…

* I will write down the meal plan for the week!

* I will use my crock pot at least once a week, sometimes twice a week.

* We will eat breakfast one night a week (eggs, pancakes, french toast, etc.) <– easy and The Professor can make eggs!

* We will have spaghetti once a week (this is one of my family’s favorite meals, its easy and I make homemade sauce)

* I will try new recipes every month so I don’t get burned out

Alright, so here’s where you can help. I love to try new recipes (especially easy ones or crock pot ones) so leave me a recipe suggestion and I’ll pick one reader to win a copy of my latest book, A Little Bit Wicked.

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, okay, it was a dark night, as most nights are. I was oh, maybe eleven or twelve years old. All of a sudden, the door to my bedroom opened, and my mother was there. “Kristan? Kristan? It’s time we had the talk.”

“But I’m dreaming about unicorns,” I may have mumbled.

“Too bad.” And there, in the pitch dark, Mother perched at the edge of my bed and informed me in as fast and clinical a way as possible, where babies came from. In a previous blog, I may have mentioned that I was a late bloomer, only receiving my first kiss just two (fine! three!) short years after I got my license. But apparently, I’d made a comment to an aunt about God sending them another baby and how nice it was. I know I was happy—another cousin to play with and command! Good old God! And hey, who was really to blame with my blissfully naïve ignorance? Mom was the one who dragged us all to church every week. God did everything, right?

Well. Not everything, apparently. In one, long run-on sentence that seemed too horrific to be true, Mother Mine whipped out words that I’d previously only seen scrawled on the seats of the school bus. I listened in utter silence and shock until she ran out of breath. Then there was only the sound of the wind.

After a few minutes, I spoke. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m going to bed,” she said. “Good talk.” Then she left me to my doomed night.

Life thereafter was quite gross. First of all…my parents! Oh, the humanity! How could I ever look at them again? There were three of us, so three times, that utterly disgusting act had occurred! Boy, they really must have loved kids to go through such ickiness. Then the horror mushroomed. My grandparents had nine children. My youngest uncle was just about the same age as I was, so that meant…!!! And what about all those cousins of mine? Apparently they too had started out in such a terribly undignified fashion! Why hadn’t anyone ever adopted a baby in our family if this was what they had to go through to become parents?

It wasn’t until I starting reading romance novels that I realized there were reasons other than the biological imperative to, um…you know. Even so, it took me quite a while to be able to read one of those scenes without dying a little.

Years and years later, my own beloved Princess Daughter asked me to confirm a rumor told to her at school about where babies came from. I took pride in the fact that I could tell her with the lights on. Her reaction: “Mommy, no offense, but I don’t care how in love you are. That’s disgusting.” (She is still currently planning to adopt all her children.)

So where were you when you learned the facts of life? And if you’re a parent, how’d you do telling your own kids?

I think it’s human nature to want to talk more about our successes than our defeats, but today I’m going to go against my instincts and tell you about some of my bad ideas.

I brainstorm a lot of ideas for books every year. Some are better than others. Some sound great to me but turn out to be huge time sucks because the ideas are bad.

Take my idea for a Holocaust love story. Makes you want to run out and buy it, right? But I promise you I want to write that book. It’s one of those ideas that sticks around in the back of my mind. I’ve always been intrigued by World War II and I used to teach eighth grade students about the Holocaust. It wasn’t a particularly romantic time, but I think it could make for a really great and poignant love story.

And yes, I know quite a few literary fiction novels have been set in that setting, but I want to write a Holocaust romance novel! Is that idea really so bad?

Okay, how about a French Revolution love story? I even wrote 200 pages of this book. The French Revolution is another of those bloody time periods that intrigues me but isn’t particularly intriguing to readers. I guess it’s something about the chopping off of heads. I couldn’t get an editor to buy it. Even when I rewrote it as a young adult novel, I couldn’t sell it. But I’m not giving up. Somewhere, sometime, someone is going to want that French Revolution romance.  You know where to find me.

I have bad ideas outside of my author life too. I recently acquired two stray kittens. That wasn’t such a good idea when I have a three-year-old, who thinks the poor cats are her dolls. But an even worse idea was trying to take the two cats and the three-year-old to the vet on Friday afternoon. Did I really think that would go well? Did I really think no one was going to get scratched or peed on or burst into tears? Babysitters are made for appointments like that one.

And those of you with kids know that it often takes a lot of trial and error before you stop succumbing to bad ideas with your kids. My windshield had a growing crack in it, and I knew I had to take it to be replaced. I made an appointment and stopped by with Baby Galen in tow. I don’t know why I believed the guy when he told me it would only take an hour. I don’t know why I thought a car repair shop was a good place to take a toddler. At lunchtime. Going into nap time. Surrounded by power tools and glass windshields. You get the picture. I was a wreck when we finally left.

 What about you? Have you had any particularly memorable bad ideas?