Congratulations to Barbara Elness, who will receive a copy of SOMEBODY TO LOVE! Email your snail mail addy to k.higgins@snet.net, Barbara! I hope you enjoy the book!

Sometimes I’ll be reading a book and all of a sudden, something so bizarre and outrageous happens that it makes no sense whatsoever. I can completely relate. Writing is tough! It can be hard to keep up the tension in a story. I’ve been there—two-thirds of the way through writing a book, and nothing interesting on the horizon, still need 15,000 more words before I can reunite the young lovers. Around about this time, I find myself coming up with some rather bizarre ideas to liven things up. This is in the first draft, mind you—sorry if you’re disappointed not to see any of the below in actual books. (You can thank my editor.)

Kidney transplants. I don’t know why, but three times (and counting) thus far in my writing career, I’ve wondered if it’s time for a kidney transplant. This has become a code, almost. If I find myself musing about the need for such an operation, I know I’m in trouble. It’s sort of like my subconscious is saying, “Higgins, I’m bored. How about a medical emergency that can show how brave and selfless a character is? Like…a kidney transplant?” It’s never a liver or lung, for some reason. Just a kidney.

The strange noise coming from outside whilst heroine is home alone/home alone with small children. Recently, I heard a strange noise outside our home. McIrish was at the firehouse for the night. We live in the woods, a good distance from our nearest neighbors. Should I scream, in other words, it’s a fair bet that no one would hear me. Still, I heard a strange noise and decided I’d be brave and investigate. I aimed the flashlight beam at the roof of the house, from whence came the mysterious noises, saw a pair of tiny eyes, screamed like an Irish banshee, dropped the light and ran back into the house, terrifying my children, cat and dog. The eyes belonged to a tiny flying squirrel. My reaction is, I believe, a very realistic depiction of what happens to most of us when confronted with an actual living creature, despite its size (maybe three inches, head to tail). Imagine if it was that pesky serial killer on the loose! Note to heroines everywhere: stop investigating noises in the middle of the night. Call 911 instead.

Then someone dies. Okay, yes, actually I have killed off a character or two. (Well…they died from natural causes, and I’m sorry for any pain it caused you.) But yeah, I’ve been known to ask, “Are there any old people who’ve lived rich, full lives just hanging around? Because maybe…you know…maybe we don’t need them as much as we thought.”

Crime spree. “How about if she’s car-jacked? What if his ex-wife kidnaps him while she’s being car-jacked? Wait, wait…what if they decide to embezzle $10 million and buy a small European country? What then, huh?” Then I remind myself that I don’t write that type of book and keep trudging through ideas.

Half-brother released from prison. I think this is a hangover from The Firm, which I saw at a tender age. Still have a thing for David Straithairn (just in case he’s reading this…call me, David!). So far, I haven’t written a character who has a half-brother in prison, but I’m hanging onto this idea.

Did you ever come across a plot twist that seemed to come out of left field? Had you scratching your head, wondering if you’d missed something?

Leave a comment, gang, and guess what? One of you will get an advance copy of SOMEBODY TO LOVE, which hits the shelves on April 24^th. And nary a kidney transplant in the entire book.

Julie McCann, it’s just a cartoon…but I feel your pain, sister! Send me your snail mail addy to k.higgins@snet.net, and I’d love to send you a signed copy of CATCH OF THE DAY. Thanks to everyone for sharing their sloppy movie moments. And listen…I cried watching Star Trek last night. No one is dorkier than I am. I say that proudly.

I love movie crying. Well, most of the time. I kind of lose it during Up, which was so sob-inducing that the movie had to be stopped. This is the reason I should be forbidden to view any movie by Pixar in public.

But most of the time, I love movie crying! Sad crying, joyful crying, poignant crying…I’d say I probably cry at 50% of all movies. Below are some of my most favorite, must-have-tissues moments of all. Warning: there are plot spoilers here!

The race in The Black Stallion. I read the books. I practically memorized the books. But when I saw the movie, and that beautiful little boy, and even knowing how the race ended, when the camera goes to the churning hooves of the Black, and the music starts playing…oh! The love between boy and horse, and what each does for the other, is indescribably beautiful. One of my favorite movies of all times.

Captain, my Captain. Granted, I usually speak those words when gazing upon Derek Jeter, captain of the New York Yankees and my future husband, but in this case, I refer, of course, to Dead Poets Society, and the moment at the end of the movie when Todd, played by Ethan Hawke, stands on his desk to acknowledge his teacher, played by Robin Williams, who has just been fired. One by one, all the other students whose lives were touched by the one teacher who believed in their intelligence and ability to think for themselves, stand on their desks as well. Sigh!

Wilson is lost. There is something bleakly magical about Cast Away—the sound of the waves, Chuck’s unbroken loneliness, his resourcefulness. When a volleyball washes up, part of the debris on the plane that went down, Chuck names it Wilson. For a long time, Wilson is the only thing that stands between Chuck and despair. And when Wilson is swept off the little raft Chuck has made, Chuck goes into the water to retrieve him—his friend, his link to humanity—and fails. “Wilson! Wilson, I’m sorry!” It cuts through me every time.

“Pick me out a winner, Bobby.” In The Natural, Robert Redford (sigh!) plays Roy Hobbs, an aging baseball star who has one season to be the player he was meant to be. All his life, he’s used only one bat—Wonderboy, a bat he made himself from a tree split by lightning on his family’s farm. The New York Knights are down, it’s the bottom of the ninth, and the injured Roy Hobbs is at bat. He swings, but the ball goes foul. Worse, Wonderboy is broken. Roy is stunned…the fans are nervous. How can Roy get the miracle hit he needs without his talisman, the representation of his boyhood dreams? Bobby Savoy, the cute, chubby bat boy who worships Roy, comes over, and, because there’s nothing else to do, Roy looks at him and says, “Pick me out a winner, Bobby.” (I’m weeping just typing these lines. Bobby does—the bat he and Roy made together. Do you think Roy hits a home run with the Savoy Special? I’ll give you a hint. Yes!

Do you love tearjerkers? Which movies make you cry? Leave a comment, and I’ll send one of you a signed copy of CATCH OF THE DAY, which has a couple of tear-jerking scenes as well.

This weekend, I’m going to a wedding. Am terribly excited, as it’s been a couple years.

I’m writing a book now in which a wedding goes awry. It was a terribly wonderful, horribly delicious scene, and I thoroughly enjoyed writing it, laughed a bit and cried some, too. I’ve never been to a wedding that didn’t go through, but you never know. It would be good from a writerly point of view (so long as it doesn’t happen this weekend).

I don’t care about the venue, the dress, the flowers, the ugly bridesmaids dresses (though the uglier the better, so far as I’m concerned). Don’t care how old the couple is or if their dog is the ring-bearer. But I do have some basic criteria.

Love. Yes, the couple must be in love. Is there anything more awkward than being at a wedding when either the bride or groom (or both) clearly isn’t in it for the long haul? Everyone forces a smile and hopes to be wrong…but…you know…we all hear the clock that just started ticking on the detonation device, if you know what I mean.

Happiness. I think couples should enjoy their weddings and not get lost in the myriad details that make it up. It’s nice if both sides of the family are happy, too. My grandmother was not pleased that my dad married my mom. I don’t know if she thought her precious boy could do better or if she just didn’t want him to marry anyone, ever, but the pictures show her looking like she just bit a lemon. (My parents were very happily married till my father’s death, by the way. Just sayin’. )

Someone sobbing during the ceremony. This is often yours truly. Just as I cry during the Oscars, Miss America and any Pixar movie, I cry at weddings. Hopefully, I won’t be alone. Now, granted, I cry with happiness and love. If someone is crying over a broken heart…well, sure, that’d be interesting. Good fodder for a book.

Food. Oh, yes, we must be fed and fed well. I don’t care if the food is homemade or from a five-star restaurant, but I must eat well!

Interesting fellow guests. I love meeting new people. This comes as a shock, I know. But give me a colorful uncle or a recently released cousin, and heck! The wedding just got more fun.

Good music. I am one of the most physically awkward people you’ll ever meet. If we’re walking down a hallway together, chances are very high that I will bump into you, trip you, or fall on top of you. That being said, I love to dance! Do watch out for me, though. I have been known to give out a black eye or two.

Good toasts. Again, this is the writer part of me. Make me laugh, make me cry. Do NOT tell long, involved stories that use the words “young Jack Kerouac” or “no one else here will appreciate this.” Remember, we’re all judging you, toast-master. Make it great.

Googly eyes. Yes, I want to see the bride and groom staring dopily at each other, silly in love. Because that’s what it’s all about, right?

Tell me your best wedding story, good, bad or ugly! You never know…one of us JQs might use it in a book!

Amanda Bordner, come on down! Send your email to k.higgins@snet.net and I’ll pop a copy of CATCH OF THE DAY into the mail. Loved hearing everyone’s fabulous crush stories! Thanks, gang!

Catch of the Day was the second book I wrote, and it’s being reissued tomorrow. This is a proud moment for me; Catch is very dear to my heart, and of all the towns I’ve written, Gideon’s Cove, Maine, remains my favorite. In fact, Somebody to Love, which comes out in April, is also set in Gideon’s Cove, but more on that later. Catch of the Day, definitely a dark horse candidate, won the Romance Writers of America RITA Award in 2008. It was, quite honestly, one of the happiest nights of my life.

But back to the book. I love Maloner the Loner, the lobsterman hero. I am not alone in this; there is a cult devoted to Malone, and I think that if readers had to rank my heroes, they’d pick Malone as #1. Strong, silent, surly and dead sexy (yeah, Clive Owen works!). Nothing wrong with that combination! I love Maggie and her big heart, I love that she’s an identical twin, and I love her younger brother. And oh, do I love her dog.

And I love that poor Maggie fell for a priest without knowing what he did for a living. This is a hazard of being Catholic, I will tell you. I went to a Catholic high school and a Catholic college, and crushes on priests are a dime a dozen. After all, those guys HAVE to at least pretend to be interested in you. It’s their job.

I will admit: I have a cousin (well, a first cousin, once removed) who is a priest. And I’ve had a crush on him since I was five years old when he taught me to tell time. Said crush has yet to abate. When my cousin read the book, he said he laughed so hard he choked, which made me very proud indeed. I’m sure he’s had his fair share of longing looks and “Father What-A-Waste” comments leveled at him. Also, being Catholic, I’ve been freaked out by The Exorcist, because that stuff is scary to us. But Father Damien…adorable! Right? (There’s even a mention of how cute he is in Catch of the Day.)

At any rate, a few years ago when Catch was scheduled to come out, I rejoined the local Catholic church in my town. We’d been going to a bigger church about 20 minutes away, but I’d heard good things about the priest in town. As a new member, I was required to have a sit-down with Father I-Won’t-Tell-You-His-Name. How nice, I thought. He wants to meet me! The kids were too young to come, and McIrish breaks out in hives at having to talk to clergy members, so I went alone.

Oh, dear. To my instant horror, I found that Father Anonymous was extremely cute. He was foreign, like Father Tim in Catch. He had a delightful accent, like Father Tim. He was funny and charming, like Father Tim. And yes, half of the parishioners were in love with him. Church attendance had never been so high.

“So, Kreestahn, what do you do for a living?” asked Father He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.

“Oh, uh…I’m a romance writer,” I said nervously.

“Wahnderful!” he exclaimed. “I cannot wait to read your books!”

“Yeah, about that,” I said. “I guess I should say this now, in the interest of full disclosure, just to show that I wrote this BEFORE meeting you… um, okay, well, my next book is about a woman who’s in love with her priest.”

There was an awkward pause. “Ah,” he said. He blushed. So did I.

“Look at the time,” I said. “Hey, great meeting you, Father! Thanks for everything! Please don’t read the book when it comes out!”

So listen. All I want from you is the name of your forbidden crush. Doesn’t have to be a priest or anything…maybe it was your best friend’s honey or your married mechanic. I’ll pick one person to receive a copy of the beautiful new edition of Catch of the Day.

To order Catch, click here.

Kristan is very happy that CATCH OF THE DAY is being reissued on 2/28!

…or What the Superbowl Taught me About Romance Writing

Not a fan of football? It’s okay. Keep reading. A New England fan? Keep reading.

The final push in a romance novel is that wonderful, breathtaking moment in which the hero and/or heroine risk it all for love. They do what they thought was impossible, they break through the barriers that have held them back all their lives, and they win against all odds. And because of that courage and that risk, they win the love and respect they now deserve, and live happily ever after.

Once upon a time in 2008, there was an empire that could not be defeated. Their leader was cyborgian in his abilities, flawless and untouchable. He had perfect features, stood a head above other men, had a body like iron. No one could defeat the empire, and no one did. The were, in a word, perfect.

Enter the opponents. Smaller, erratic, rag-tag, led by a younger brother of a much better general. Big Brother was the true champion of the family; Little Brother…well, it was luck and his name, maybe, that had gotten him to where he was. Yet he had an indefinable quality that puzzled analysts. Sometimes, though not often enough, Little Brother showed a flash of brilliance. He wasn’t the physical perfection that was Tom Brady, but he had a sweet smile and pretty eyes. The boy next door, you might say.

Somehow, the rag-tag team made it to the final battle to face Perfection. And Perfection did what was expected of them. They played magnificently, dominating the game for three quarters and fourteen minutes. Unfortunately for them, the New York Giants did what was not expected of them. In the final minute of the game—the final minute—Eli Manning, younger brother of the great Peyton, should’ve been sacked. He disappeared under a swarm of Patriots jerseys, and he was not supposed to get away. A sack would’ve essentially ended the game, and the Perfect Season, the first in history, would’ve been complete.

But Eli—somehow—got away. He threw the ball, and it was caught by a millimeter and held onto by the grace of the football gods. Three plays later, with 35 seconds left in the game, Eli threw a touchdown pass that put the Giants up for the first time in the game, and the only time it really mattered. Perfection was defeated, not by the greatest football plays in the world…but by heart.

If that’s not a romance novel, I don’t know what is.

Love him or stick pins into a voodoo doll wearing #10, one cannot deny that Eli Manning has a lot of heart. He may not have the skills or the records (not yet), but the kid just kept going, and he won the big game. Last weekend, when the Patriots coach swore revenge and Tom Brady played fired away with needle-threading precision, Eli Manning did it again. Less than a minute on the clock. The Giants are behind, the Pats are praying for the clock to run out. Eli has the ball. There’s no room for error. Nothing but a touchdown will do.

A touchdown it is.

Someday, they’re going to make a movie based on the boy who married his college sweetheart and stepped out from under the shadow of his brother, who beat the unbeatable, and became a legend in his own right. The boy with the sweet smile and the big heart who just wouldn’t give up.

Now, New England fans, I feel you, I do. I’m from New England, after all, though my sports heart is with New York. So in the interest of fairness and conciliation, read the story again. Once upon a time is now 2004. Instead of football, picture baseball. Instead of the Superbowl, remember a certain Pennant. Picture a seven-game series in which the unbeatable empire, this time from New York, is up three games to zero. Picture the scrappy little team, this time from Boston, who was down to one strike from the greatest closing pitcher of all time, a team about to face an utterly humiliating loss.

Not quite how it worked out, is it?

Talk about a final push.

Kristan is happy to announce that MY ONE AND ONLY just sold to a French publisher.