Inspiration for 

The Notebook
It wasn’t easy to come up with the plot for my first (published)
novel, but in the end, I decided to go with something that I knew I
could do.

The Notebook was inspired by my wife’s grandparents, two

wonderful people who spent over 60 years together. My wife was
very fond of these two people—the other set of grandparents had
died when she was young—and she was one of those people who
loved to visit on the weekends, growing up. When she turned
sixteen, as soon as she got her license, she would drive up to visit
them on the weekends and even when she went off to college
(about two hours away) she still went to visit them a couple of
times a month just to check on them, to make sure they had
groceries, and all those things a nice granddaughter would do.

Since they were so special to her, my wife was, of course, looking

forward to having these two people involved in her wedding. But,
unfortunately, the day before the wedding, we got a call and were
told that the grandparents wouldn’t be able to attend. Even though
they were only forty minutes away by car and someone else could
drive them, they were in such ill health that their doctor
recommended they stay at home. My wife was very sad about that,
but the day was so hectic, she did her best to put it out of her
mind. I guess it finally struck home for her when she was standing
in the back of the church and getting ready to walk down the aisle.
In the back of the church was a small table and on the table was a
box that had been brought by the florist. It contained the corsages
and boutonnieres for the wedding party and our parents, but as she
was standing there, she couldn’t help but notice there were two
flowers left untouched—those that had been meant for the
grandparents.

We went through the ceremony and reception, we talked to family

and danced, did all those typical things, and went back to the hotel.
When I woke the next morning, my wife rolled over and met my
eyes, looking just about as beautiful as I’d ever seen a woman look.

“Do you love me?” she asked.

“Of course I do,” I whispered, wondering why she asked.
“Well good,” she said, clapping her hands and speaking in an
authoritarian tone. “Then you’re going do something for me.”
“Yes ma’am,” I said.