When Melissa Tagg announced that she was releasing a title with Bethany House, I might have squealed.
I know exactly where I was when I read her blog post: sitting on a hotel bed in Guthrie, Oklahoma on my way to the 2012 ACFW Conference in Dallas, Texas. My roommate didn't know who she was yet, but I said "just you wait. Melissa IS going to be someone in the Christian fiction world".
Hey, Melissa when that comes true do I get a percentage of your royalties?? ;-)
Anyway. I'm thrilled, THRILLED to be able to call Melissa "friend" AND share this giveaway party with Rel at Relz Reviewz. We've got a BASH planned for you!!
So enter! The
giveaway runs from September 28th thru September 30th
And hey! The reason TODAY is the party?? It's MELISSA'S BIRTHDAY!!
And have we got the prizes!
You can comment on this blog or Rel's blog to enter the contest and we're giving away:
FOUR $10 Amazon Gift Cards (to buy a copy of Melissa's novel)!
REMEMBER, the party only lasts through the weekend!
Watch this post and Rel's for sneak peeks into Made to Last, deleted scenes and fun bet-you-didn't-know about Melissa's journey to writing and publishing this book.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY and NOVEL RELEASE, Melissa!!
Fun Fact #1 about Made to Last...
Melissa: In my earliest versions of
the story, I had plans for Miranda's actual for
mer fiance to play her pretend
husband rather than the studio hiring someone to appear as her husband. But
this other fun character kept nibbling at the back of my mind—someone funny
(okay, crazy) who Miranda might have trouble keeping in line.
The more I pondered it, the
more I realized adding this third guy in the story could be hilarious. So,
Blake/Blaze was born. I pushed the fiance’s appearance in the story back a ways
and gave the role of the pretend husband to Blake (And he gets his own book
next! Here to Stay comes out May 1,
2014.)
Fun Fact #2 about Made to Last...
Melissa: I have no idea how to build a house. And I am so un-crafty
it’s not even funny. I get really nervous about putting things together—like a
new vacuum or a new desk. (Both of which I’ve done. Both of which I’ve,
amazingly, survived…but not without moments of frustration!)
So the fact that I wrote a book about a homebuilding DIY
guru…um, hilarious. To research, I watched a slew of HGTV shows (such a
sacrifice, I know) and spent lots of time on the This Old House website. I called my dad several times when I had
questions about this or that tool. And Google is one of my best friends. :-)
Want a peak at what the story USED to look like? Check out this deleted scene below...
The yell jerked Miranda from sleep, and she rolled from her bed.
She hit the floor with an “oomph” and thud. Ouch. Quilt tangled around her
legs, she yanked herself to her feet, kicking the blanket away and crossing the
room in quick strides.
Why the shouting?
Who…? And had she seriously just fallen out of her bed? Bring on the bruises.
Another yell accompanied her race down the
stairs.
“What is it?” she huffed as she reached the
bottom, feet thoroughly iced as they slicked over the hardwood. “What’s wrong?”
And then she saw them: Knox standing barely
inside the house, screen door still flapping behind him, panting, pointing. And
Blaze, bare torso sticking up from the sofa, dark hair poking all directions,
sleepy grin.
“I…he…” Knox threw up his hands. “I walk into
the house, assuming you’re both sleeping upstairs and suddenly I hear this
voice from the couch.” He rubbed both palms down his unshaven jaw, then stuffed
them in the pockets of his jeans.
“All I said was, ‘Morning, dude,’” Blaze said
through a yawn, stretching his arms. Sinewy muscles threaded down his arms and
back and Miranda felt the warmth spread over her cheeks.
Oh, crap, she couldn’t flush. What wife reddened
over the sight of her husband shirtless after five years of marriage?
But the shock still oozing from poor Knox’s face
was a pretty good sign he probably hadn’t noticed her blushing bride moment.
“Knox, you going to recover?”
But when he turned his eyes on her, the crimson
crept over her all over again as she realized what he saw. Hair a mass of dark
tangles, pink polka-dotted pajama pants and oversized t-shirt hanging askew.
“Huh, I didn’t take you for a pink girl.”
She hugged her eyes to herself and in her
periphery saw Blaze stand. “My wife can pull off any color.” The words rolled
lazily from his tongue ahead of another yawn.
“Um…honey.” She stretched out the word. “We have
a houseguest, remember.” Eyes to his chest and then away again.
He caught her drift. “Right. Shirt. Coming right
up.” He reached behind and pulled a tee over his head.
“I think I’m breathing again,” Knox offered,
closing the door behind him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you all. I was just
thirsty and thought maybe I’d start some coffee brewing and…” He glanced back
and forth between them. “But what was I thinking? This isn’t my house and I
should go. I’ll come back later when you’ve had a chance to…dress.”
Oh, the salty taste of awkwardness. Miranda
tightened her arms. “No, come on in. Go ahead to the kitchen. I’ll change and
be down in a minute.”
She padded back upstairs, stifling her groan
until she reached her bedroom. Bad enough her head pounded from rolling off her
bed. But to race down the stairs looking like – she stopped in front of her
full-length mirror – this? She wiped the sleep from her eyes, threaded her
fingers through hair that would’ve raised Einstein’s eyebrows.
And oh yeah, between now and her return, she’d
have to come up with an excuse for why her dear husband had spent the night on
the couch. He snores? I snore? No, wouldn’t do for Knox to print that. Blaze
stayed up too late watching TV and never made it up to bed. But that didn’t
explain the bedding.
She pulled a fleece sweatshirt from the back of
her closet – summer was definitely gone for good – and slipped into her
favorite Levis.
Probably Matthew Knox considered theirs the
oddest marriage this side of the Atlantic. If so, he had it right – all except
for the actual marriage part.
And yet…
Whatever he thought of her and Blaze, Knox had
made a concentrated effort to reach out to her in the past two days, ever since
she’d shared her worries about the show.
She wriggled a brush through her mass of dark
curls.
He believes me. Even after helping her the other day had netted
him a fall and a goose egg the size of her fist. He hadn’t been seriously hurt,
but still, she regretted not insisting on shelving that box herself –
especially after he had admitted his fear of ladders.
She watched her
lips spread in the mirror now. A cloud of red had spread over his cheeks as he
offered the sheepish confession. And then again, when he’d pulled himself up
after falling from the ladder.
And yet, he wanted to help her. Placed enough
stock in her concerns about the show to offer his investigative services. He’d
already followed through on the offer, asking for a list of every suspicious
incident from the past few months and quizzing her on who might possibly want
to see From the Ground Up brought down.
Miranda descended
the stairs a second time. Sunrise still caressed the morning, its pinks and
oranges cascading through the lanky windows fronting the house. Blaze had
folded his sheet and blankets on the couch.
She found the men
huddled over bowls of cereal in the kitchen. “Good morning,” she said, lilting
into the room as if nobody had seen anybody shirtless, rumpled or frightened
only minutes ago.
The coffeepot
chugged and moaned, the smell massaging her senses. She padded to the fridge
and pulled the door open. Blinked. “Groceries! Someone…” She turned. “Blaze you
got groceries?” Couldn’t have been Knox. True to his word, he’d shadowed her
every move in the past 48 hours.
Blaze’s spoon
clanked against his bowl. “Pantry’s stocked, too. And I filled the far right
cupboard with your favorite.”
Her favorite? She
flung open the cabinet. Pop-Tarts. Box after box of Pop-Tarts. He’d noticed?
Observant man, her husband. Who knew? He’d pretty much made himself scarce
these past few days.
The
eager-to-please smile in Blaze’s eyes warmed her. His consideration, too.
“Thanks.” And then, “Sweetheart.” She tried to keep the surprise from her
voice. Knox should believe Blaze did things like this all the time – like any
doting husband would.
Not that she’d
know.
And for some reason a lump formed in her throat. She
swallowed, blinked away tears that had picked the strangest time to well.
Seriously, Pop-Tarts should not make a person cry.
What's your vote? Agree it should have been cut? Or kept in the story? ;-)
Wish Melissa a HAPPY BIRTHDAY and be sure and enter the giveaway above!!