Have you ever tried to write a first kiss? It's hard. Don't even get me started on writing a full love scene, because that's absolute torture.
If you're not a writer and haven't suffered the ordeal of kiss-writing, let me explain a bit. Writing a kiss is hard because no matter how fluent you are in a language, there never seem to be enough words to choose from to convey the way an amazing first kiss feels. Nothing seems adequate, everything feels cliche. Because where do we register a first kiss? I think it's maybe the only time my brain isn't working furiously to process what's happening; instead, all the conversation is occurring in the body. It's heat in your core, fire on your skin, weakness in your knees, shouting in your lungs. It's the loudest and quietest moment in the world all at once, the longest instant that cannot possibly last long enough.
Kate and Ethan's first kiss happens onstage, when they're enacting Anna and Jack's first kiss. That's two first kisses happening at one time between four people. Think about that one for a second, the layers involved in a moment like that. I thought about it for years. And then, later, when Kate and Ethan kiss for the first time as themselves, it's a first time yet again, each moment important, each one challenging.
Lullaby is a book about firsts happening to people who thought they'd never experience another first. It was so important to me to get it right. If my readers feel even the slightest twinge of butterfly-stomach nostalgia, I'll be satisfied.