Interview, Excerpts and Giveaway: The Marriage Pact series by M.J. Pullen

Description:

Marci Thompson always knew what life would be like by her 30th birthday. A large but cozy suburban home shared with a charming husband and two brilliant children. A celebrated career as an established writer, complete with wall-to-wall mahogany shelves and a summer book tour. A life full of adventure with her friends and family by her side. 

Instead, Marci lives alone in 480 square feet of converted motel space next to a punk rock band, hundreds of miles from her friends and family. She works in a temporary accounting assignment that has somehow stretched from two weeks into nine months. And the only bright spot in her life, not to mention the only sex she's had in two years, is an illicit affair with her married boss, Doug. 

Thirty is not at all what it is cracked up to be. Then the reappearance of a cocktail napkin she hasn't seen in a decade opens a long-forgotten door, and Marci's life gets complicated, fast. The lines between right and wrong, fantasy and reality, heartache and happiness are all about to get very blurry, as Marci faces the most difficult choices of her life.

At thirty-three, Suzanne Hamilton has it all. A successful party-planning business with an elite client list. A swank condo in a hot Atlanta neighborhood and a close group of friends – especially her longtime best friend Marci. A list of men a mile long who have tried to win her heart and failed. Plus, she’s just landed the event that will take her career and social status to the next level. What could she possibly have to regret?

Then a freak accident changes everything, and Suzanne discovers that her near-perfect life is just a few steps away from total disaster. She is humiliated and at risk of losing it all… except the surprising support of her newest celebrity client. With nothing else to go on, Suzanne follows him into an unexpected job and unfamiliar territory. Soon she will question everything – her career, her past, her friendships, and even her own dating rules. 

But when her catalog of past relationships turns into a list of criminal suspects, she is faced with the horrifying possibility that she may not live to regret any of it…

At thirty-five, Rebecca Williamson is surrounded by happy endings. Her friends Suzanne and Marci are living out their own personal fairy tales in Atlanta, Georgia. But despite Rebecca’s best efforts four years ago, her adorable college friend Jake Stillwell has officially slipped through her fingers and broken her heart. Even though her job as a flight attendant fits perfectly with her orderly nature, and brings her into contact with lots of eligible men, she can’t seem to find a man who is Jake’s equal.

Then a frantic phone call from her mother in Oreville, Alabama turns Rebecca’s structured life on its ear. She will find herself back in the tiny town she worked so hard to leave behind, and thrown together with Deputy Alex Chen, a face from the past who’s made it clear he thinks of Rebecca as more than just an old friend’s kid sister. 

But Alex is nothing like what Rebecca had in mind; and in the meantime, she has other battles to fight, including her painful family history. Can she navigate the chaos and get her life back to normal? Will Alex prove himself to be the friend she's always needed? Or will she discover that the door to Jake is not as tightly closed as she thought?

MB's INTERVIEW

Thank you, Mrs. M.J. Pullen

Why do we read romance books and why do you write them? 

I can’t speak for all romance readers, but I love reading and writing stories that allow me to escape into another world for a while, and I love satisfying endings. Romance is a wonderful genre because it takes us through flirtation and conflict to the moment of falling in love, or maybe realizing that we’ve been in love with someone for a long time. If you’ve had that feeling, you know there’s nothing like it – it’s electric and powerful and changes you forever. Obviously, there are limits on how many times we get to have that moment in real life, but in fiction we can live it over in over, hundreds of ways, with characters we might never encounter in real life. 

Marci Thompson is 30, Suzanne Hamilton is 33 and Rebecca Williamson is 35. Why did you choose these ages? 

Great question. Aside from the fact that Marci’s pact with Jake required her to be thirty to make the story work, I really enjoyed writing about the friends as they navigated this period of their lives. For one thing, I was in my mid-thirties when I started this series, so these are ages I could call upon my immediate experiences to understand. Beyond that, people are different at 30 than they are in their early 20’s; there are different pressures and opportunities. No offense to the younger crowd, because there are plenty of great novels with young, ‘blank slate’ protagonists; but I think women in particular are more interesting at thirty and up, when they’ve had a few bumps and bruises and failed relationships. No matter what the age, I always try to write characters with interesting histories and some emotional baggage. It feels more real to me that way! 

There are many essential differences between the contemporary women at 30 and Balzac’s model woman from “A Woman of Thirty”? 

I haven’t read Balzac’s work, but now I’m intrigued to do so! I will say that I think our standards for what women “should” be and do at various ages is constantly in flux, and the result is a complicated mix of standards that none of us can achieve all at once. It’s a fascinating, sometimes harrowing, time to be a woman. I try to infuse that theme into all my novels. Or maybe I don’t try, and I just can’t help it. 

What is a must in a romance story? 

It’s generally agreed that the basic definition of a “romance” is that there is a central love story and a happy ending (or at least an ending that includes justice, mutually requited love and optimism – even if the main characters don’t drive off into the sunset). The novels in this series meet that definition, though I would say there’s some overlap with Women’s Fiction, especially in Baggage Check, where the love story between Rebecca and Alex is intertwined with Rebecca’s complicated family and personal history. For me, however, what’s essential for a good romance is depth of character. I’ve never been a sucker for a square jaw and a cowboy hat alone, though I’ll admit I’ve fallen for both in the past. What turns me on is interestingness. Give me a heroine who hates high heels and has a photographic memory, or a hero who’s afraid of heights and knows how to hotwire a car. It’s the little quirks that we love in our real-life partners, and I feel the same about my characters. 

You wrote “educational materials for parents and couples”. Will we find some advices hidden between the lines? If yes, why, if no – why not? 

Well, no. And maybe a little bit yes. J In my role as a therapist, part of the job was to provide a structure or a new way of looking at things to help people heal their relationships. Even though that’s technically “educational,” the goal was still to allow clients to come to their own conclusions, but the teaching of the perspective was certainly a form of advice-giving. In fiction, the writer’s job is not to judge or to draw conclusions, but to tell the story and let the reader take it from there. My characters often learn lessons as they go, though, and many of those lessons are ones I learned the hard way, or am still trying to teach myself. There is a little bit of overt advice-giving, for example, when Marci’s dad calls her out for her behavior late in The Marriage Pact. That advice is not really intended for the reader, though – I think Marci’s dad is saying what most readers were thinking anyway!

EXCERPT:

TOUR SCHEDULE

The Marriage Pact

In her mind, she had ended it a thousand times. She would spend hours rehearsing three versions of the parting speech:

Rational:

“Doug, I can’t do this anymore. Neither of us intended this to happen, but it has to stop. I love you [should she say that?], but I can’t be responsible for breaking up a marriage, however unhappy it might be. I deserve better than this. I need someone free to make a life with me, and you are not. I know in my heart that part of you still loves Cathy, and I think you should return to her and really invest in your marriage.”

Magnanimous and melodramatic:

“Listen, Doug. This has been wonderful; it really has. But it’s wrong and it’s been wrong from the start. It’s tearing me apart. I am not an adulteress; I deserve to be more than ‘the other woman.’ I can’t live with myself for another day this way, and I can’t let you do it, either. Go back to your wife, your home, the life that you chose all those years ago. I will treasure our time together and you have my word that I will never tell anyone about us.”

Jealous and generally pissed off:

“Doug, your little weekend getaway with your wife gave me time to get clarity and realize that I am better than this situation, and better than you. If you loved me, you would no longer be married. If you loved your wife, you would not be with me. You act like this is torture for you, but really you’re just a typical cheating sleazebag who wants to have his cake and eat it, too. I want you out of my life forever. If you try to speak to me again, I will call Cathy and tell her everything. Get out.”

This last version was the most emotionally satisfying. She would march into work armed with these words, confident, resolute and ready to take back her life.

Until she saw him. She’d find a sticky note on her keyboard: “It was awful. I missed you.” Or he would pick her up at lunch, and instead of going back to her place, they would drive to the top of Mount Bonnell and look over the Texas hill country and talk. She would feebly threaten to end it, crying pathetically and remembering none of her kickass speeches.

So they limped along in a relationship netherworld—not together, not apart, each day full of the twin possibilities of limitless passion or goodbye forever. With stacks of invoices and mindless tasks in front of her each day, Marci had entirely too much time to contemplate both ends of the spectrum.

Today was no different, except for the fact that she was officially no longer wasting her late twenties in a hopeless relationship. Thirty had arrived, and a new decade was waiting. And there was an e-mail from Jake.

Regrets Only

She smiled broadly at him, remembering to show her teeth the way she’d been instructed before beauty pageants as a child. She could almost taste the Vaseline her mother made her rub on her top teeth to ensure they didn’t get smudged with lipstick. Smile. Be open.

Rick returned the smile with warmth. He also seemed to notice he’d been talking about himself for too long. “So tell me how you got started in the party planning business.”

Suzanne recounted briefly how she had been an art history major at the University of Georgia, desperately wanted to work as a museum curator, and how she’d taken the job on the event staff at the High Museum right after college. “Originally, I hoped the foot in the door at the museum would land me a job in procurement or something, but it never happened.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Rick said sympathetically.

Suzanne shrugged. It turned out she had a knack for event planning. Something about the combination of creativity and crisis response. After a couple of years at the High, she had been hired away by a large event planning agency. She stayed there for a few years before creating her own boutique agency. Now she had one of the most successful, prestigious agencies in the city. People were often shocked to discover she and Chad were the only permanent staff. “We actually won an award last year,” she told Rick.

“Sounds like you are quite the little rock star in the event planning world,” he said. “Or do you just plan events for rock stars?”

Normally very discreet about her clients, Suzanne couldn’t resist the opportunity to brag a little. “Actually, I am doing a benefit in a couple of weeks for Dylan Burke. Of course, he’s more a country star…”

“Seriously? I was kidding about the whole rock star thing.”

A Southern lady is always modest, her mother’s voice chided her. “Well, it’s not that big of a deal,” Suzanne hedged. “It’s at my old stomping grounds at the High, which is probably why I got the job.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Rick countered enthusiastically. “That’s awesome. He’s totally famous.”

She waved away the words with a manicured hand, but Rick was undeterred. “Seriously, you should be really proud of yourself. That’s a huge deal. Obviously you’ve earned quite a reputation for someone like Dylan Burke to choose you.”

His eyes held hers sincerely. Okay, Rick, ease up. We’ve already slept together. You can dial it down a tad.

“Really, his manager chose me. I haven’t actually met him yet. We’ll see how it turns out,” she said, and pretended to be engrossed in the highlights of spring training on the TV over the bar. “How do you think the Braves will do this year?”

Baggage Check

Rebecca Williamson picked up a smooth, rust-colored clay bowl for the fifth time in as many minutes. She ran her hand along the sloping curve from the base to the rim, and then bounced it lightly in her arms for heft. It was two pounds, she decided. Maybe two and a half once they had wrapped it for the plane. She put it down again and stepped back to look at the rest of the artist’s display, dusting her hands together.

“Oh, just buy it already!” Valerie said from a few feet away. “I’ve gotten married after shorter courtships than you’re having with that bowl.”

“I don’t need it,” Rebecca said.

“It would look nice on your kitchen table. You never buy anything, Becky.” Valerie had been calling her “Becky” since she joined the airline three years before. For the first several months, Rebecca had corrected her. Now she just accepted it.

“What would I do with it?” Rebecca said. “I mean, you can’t serve food in it, not that I ever cook anyway. I don’t have anything to store in it. And I’m never home to look at how my apartment is decorated. How is a red clay bowl necessary?”

Valerie rolled her eyes and patted Rebecca’s shoulder with a veined hand. “Life needs beauty, doll. Every girl should have something beautiful and useless in her life. Like my first husband, for example. That man was pure eye candy, but the poor idiot couldn’t change a light bulb.”

Rebecca laughed. She had never asked outright how many husbands Valerie had been through, but her current guess was four, and at least two of them had been pilots. Valerie was in her late sixties, ancient by flight attendant standards, and a legend among all the younger women they worked with. Rebecca had been paired with her during the first week of training and they had flown together more often than not since then. At first, Rebecca had resisted becoming Valerie’s protégé, but through sheer force of will and nonstop chatter, Valerie had become Rebecca’s only real friend at work. Tonight, they were in an artists’ co-op in New Mexico, killing time during an overnight layover.

“Are you ready to go to the bar?” Rebecca asked her.

“What’s your hurry?” Valerie said. “You never take anything home from there, either.”

“Don’t start with that.”

“What? Come on, you know I’m right. And don’t use me for an excuse, either. I may be an old lady but I know how to make myself scarce when I see a brassiere on the doorknob.”

An aproned woman behind the counter looked up, smirking.

“Shh...” Rebecca hushed. But even she could not help but smile at the way Valerie said “brassiere on the doorknob” in her New York accent. Rebecca herself had never used this signal, but it had been a frequent sight in the sorority house at the University of Georgia. She tried to imagine finding one of Valerie’s big beige contraptions hanging on their hotel room door and shuddered.

“Ready to go?” she asked again.

“Oh, alright,” Valerie said. “Just let me add this to my collection.” She held up a blue-glazed mug that had been formed to look like the squished-down face of an old man.

Several of Rebecca’s coworkers kept little collections from places they visited—postcards, spoons, shot glasses, snow globes, you name it. There was a sort of unspoken code that it was only acceptable to collect items from cities you had truly visited, meaning you had to leave the airport for more than a couple of hours. Even so, Rebecca could not understand this tradition. Yes, it was cute in the moment, but they went so many places. What did you do with all that crap? Put it in a box so you could re-live your glory days of passing out peanuts? Have it gather dust on the shelves while other people pretended to be interested at parties?

Once or twice, something had caught Rebecca’s eye, particularly when they flew to exotic locations. A tiny but exquisite crystal vase from Waterford in Ireland. Hand-carved candlesticks painted black and inlaid with gold in Toledo, Spain. A set of Russian dolls in Moscow. Each time, she had stood paralyzed in the gift shop, debating why she needed this thing and where she would put it and how often she would really look at it. Then she would sigh, and to the dismay of each patient shop owner, return the item to the shelf and walk out. Except for an irresistible silk scarf from Milan and an emergency t-shirt she’d been forced to buy in New York, Rebecca had not bought souvenirs anywhere. Once in a while she regretted this, but never for long. She would deposit the amount of the foregone purchase into her savings account with satisfaction and move on. Always move on.

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About the author:

M.J. (Manda) Pullen studied English Literature and Business at the University of Georgia in Athens, and later Professional Counseling at Georgia State University in Atlanta. She practiced psychotherapy for five years before taking time off for writing and raising her two young boys. Since high school, she has also been an executive assistant, cashier, telemarketer, professional fundraiser, marketing guru, magazine writer, grant-writer, waitress, box-packer, HR person, and casual drifter.

She reads and writes across many genres, and learns something from everything she does. No matter what she’s writing, M.J. believes that love is the greatest adventure there is, and that hopeless romantics are never really hopeless.

She loves to hear from readers and other writers – so drop her a line!

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Author's Giveaway
One set of autographed paperback copies of the Marriage Pact trilogy (winner can choose a custom inscription for the first book). US Only, Ebook International
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