2012 Was a Blast! (And We Survived)

Our 2012 may be remembered as the year of the Great Turkey Fire. While at our son Andy's house for Thanksgiving, the oven caught fire from the drippings that ignited after Zack opened the door and let in enough oxygen to encourage the blaze. The heroic rescue efforts of my husband, Bob, saved everyone's life but the turkey's, and quick-witted Michael snapped this breaking action photo.

One of the gratitude items listed around the dinner table after the drama was, "I'm thankful for baking soda." 

As we ate, I heard one of my grandchildren ask, "What do you think the turkey's name was?" After some names like "Sam" and "George" were batted around, the question arose, "What if it was a girl? I'll bet her name was Susan."

If that is the case, then thank you, Susan the turkey, for providing us with sustenance. And thank you, Bob, for putting out the fire. And thanks to Andy and Heidi for putting us up (or putting up with us) and thanks to everyone who lets me overhear their most interesting comments or leaves behind intriguing items that spark ideas for me to write about.

Bring on the new year, I'm ready for it, because I've been practicing writing "2013" for weeks.

What's your best plan for 2013?

The Gentleman Toweler

by Shirley Bahlmann
A lot of people wonder where authors get their ideas. Here's an example that worked for me.
I was at the LDStorymaker's Conference in Salt Lake City this past weekend. I wound up sitting by a door that author Candace Salima's husband, Alvin, opened to let me in. He saw me tippy-toeing around the corner after trying to get in behind the presenter's screen. (There was an actual door there, but no one opened it for me. They probably thought I was a crazy lady, tapping on the glass, yelling with blue lips, "Let me in!")
But Alvin is big, Alvin is brave, he knows me, and he STILL opened the door!
Alvin gave me one of his big, warm Samoan hugs to thaw me out. I appreciated that the room was warmer, but not by much. After a bit, Alvin got up and left the table. He came back a few minutes later with a white hotel towel. At first, I thought something had spilled. Then he walked over behind me and draped the towel over my shoulders. I looked up in complete surprise. "How did you know I was cold?" I asked.
"Because I'm hardly ever cold, and I thought it felt a bit chilly," he replied. "I tried to get you a blanket, but they didn't have one, so I hope you don't mind the towel."
"No," I said, snuggling into the soft, warm terry cloth shawl. My grandma never had it so good.
Now, how's that for character? Can you see how that event could be worked into a book in so many ways?
Thanks, Alvin, for the inspiration.
And the towel.