So glad you could make it back to Duck Chat! Welcome!

A very special treat for you today, TJ Bennett is here!

TJ’s first two published books are getting rave reviews and this is only the beginning for this author. Her first book, The Legacy, was released in April of last year and The Promise followed this year in May. She will be telling us about them today.

She began writing in 2000, won contests and awards for her stories, and then struck gold with The Legacy. TJ has a BA and MA in English and taught college writing for a while. She’s had some interesting jobs in her past:  civilian contract negotiator for the US Air Force, buying multi-million dollar satellite and weapons systems, and she was president of her own consulting business for several years. Married with children, as a writer she has a terrific philosophy: she believes that nothing is ever lost, and no painful experience is in vain: it’s all research.

Be sure to leave a meaningful comment or question for TJ, because she’s kindly giving away two copies of The Promise. Now let’s chat!

DUCK CHAT: TJ, your Legacy series is being very warmly embraced by readers. Would you tell us a little about the series overall first, and is it evolving the way you originally planned?

TB: The series is set during the Early Reformation (1525), an unusual, outside-the-box period that readers have told me they are becoming quite interested in as a result of my books. This is the time of the rise of literacy, egalitarianism, the split of the Catholic Church, and the nailing of Martin Luther’s 95 Theses on the castle church wall. I deal with the upheaval in the social, political, and cultural fabric of the western world by looking at ordinary people who lived through these difficult changes. I try to recreate what it must have been like to live fearlessly and love passionately during these turbulent times. The series currently has two books, and yes, they are as I planned them to be. I got very lucky in that my publisher, Medallion Press, loves outside-the-box historicals and left my vision pretty much intact.

Their faith in the story has been well-rewarded. The reviews for The Legacy have been incredible, and the icing on the cake was when the reader review site All About Romance dubbed it a “Buried Treasure 2008” and gave it Desert Isle Keeper status. You can read the reviews for this and The Promise, the second book in the series over on my website.

DC: If you could retire any question and never, ever have it asked again, what would it be? Feel free to answer it.

TB: I haven’t been interviewed enough to have a question I’d want to retire! I’m awaiting the day I feel so jaded by it all that I can simply arch an eyebrow at my interviewer and say, with bored ennui, “I have no response to that. Next question.” I’ve been practicing in the mirror.

DC: I’ve heard writers often say their stories take them in surprising directions, or dialogue flows from some unknown place. Is it the same with you? Do your characters surprise you sometimes?

TB: In fact, that’s how the second book in the series, The Promise, came about. I was deep in the midst of writing The Legacy when I suddenly realized Wolfgang Behaim, my printer hero who is forced into an arranged marriage with a runaway nun, had not one but two brothers, and the second brother was a mercenary. Günter Behaim swaggered his way into Wolf’s story and refused to leave until I promised him his own book. He’s a smooth-talking persuader, that one, and when he kept whispering suggestive comments in my ear and toying with the curve of my wrist, I found myself twined around his manly finger with no recourse but to begin the second book about him and the Spanish blade merchant’s daughter for whom he falls.

DC: The Legacy is about Wolfgang Behaim and Baroness Sabina von Ziegler. Would you tell us about their book?

TB: Okay, this might be the one question I’d retire…just kidding!

When her brief, disastrous marriage to a fortune hunter ends in scandal, Baronesse Sabina von Ziegler’s vengeful adoptive father imprisons her in a cloister. She arranges a daring escape and suddenly finds herself betrothed to Wolfgang Behaim, a tradition-bound printer from the rising middle class with a secret that threatens to destroy everything he holds dear. As they fight to discover the truth of the mysteries surrounding the Baron’s machinations, they find themselves challenged by a fiery passion they cannot resist. Can they overcome their past and find love even as lies, war, and an unexpected enemy conspire against them?

Excerpt from The Legacy:

“Well,” Wolf said, arching a brow. “I suppose this means no wedding feast.”

A soft groan escaped Lady Sabina. Her gown fluttered like a conquered flag in the wind, and she closed her eyes.

Wolf felt her weight press against him.

“Are you ailing?” he asked with some concern, reaching out a hand. She withdrew, and Wolf would not have been surprised to hear an audible crack as she stiffened her spine.

“I am fine. The day has been long.”

He squinted at her. “The cock has barely crowed.”

“My life has been long, then.” She looked away.

He refrained from saying he was several years older than she. The weary set of her shoulders made him agree with her conclusion.

He found the horse her father had left, a skinny palfrey with a swayed back. While the ancient beast creaked when it walked, it would last long enough to get them home.

Sanctuary.

He felt his spirits lift a little in spite of his foul mood. He retrieved his own horse and walked both up the path, noting the gathering storm clouds. If they weren’t quick about it, they would be caught in a downpour. He went to the girl and motioned her towards the horse.

“Up,” he said.

She straightened her back, her steady blue gaze trapping his. “Are you speaking to me or to the horse?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Why you, of course, unless you intend for the horse to ride.”

The girl clasped shaking hands in front of her, but when she spoke again her voice was steady. “Master Behaim. It is customary to use a form of address when engaging another in polite conversation. My name is Sabina. You have my permission to use it. If you prefer, you may call me ‘Baronesse’ or ‘my lady.’ In a pinch, I suppose, ‘Frau Behaim’ will do. But ‘you,’ implied or otherwise, is not an acceptable alternative, particularly when speaking to one of noble descent.”

His jaw dropped open at her speech.

She pointed at his mouth. “You will catch flies with that.”

His jaw snapped shut, and he regarded her with genuine interest. A fire crackled in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. He knew few men with the fortitude to talk back to him, let alone women. He stepped back and sketched a sweeping bow.

“If it would please Your Majesty, your steed awaits,” he said with a mocking flourish.

“That, too, would be an inappropriate form of address, given my station.”

He was no longer amused. “Get on the cursed horse—”

She trembled at his forbidding tone, but she did not comply.

“—my lady,” he finally ground out.

She tilted her head. “It would be my pleasure.”

She reached for the pommel, but when she tried to pull up, she rose only half way and slid down again. She looked at him in consternation.

“May I?” he said stiffly, his desire to aid her in conflict with his desire to abandon her to her own devices.

She nodded. When he lifted her up to place her in the sidesaddle, her small breasts brushed against his chest. A curl of long black hair feathered across his cheek. Determinedly ignoring her nearness, he deposited her in the saddle and reached to steady her. His hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and it occurred to him that if he wrapped them around her tiny waist, his fingers would almost touch at the tips. Heat spiraled through him. Surprised, he released her as though burned. She swayed atop the horse.

“What the—!” He caught her before she fell to the ground, and stood her up again. Her knees buckled and, out of necessity, he pressed her between him and the horse, which looked back and regarded them both without blinking.

He could feel the girl’s heart pounding against his. He stared down at her for a moment and for some reason her mouth again drew his gaze.

Dear God, that mouth—it gave a man ideas. She may be plain in every other respect, but that mouth was sin itself. His hands were still around her waist where he had caught her. He had been right. His fingers did nearly touch.

By the saints and stars, what was he doing?

He stepped back, releasing her.

“Can’t you sit a horse?” he snapped, irritated to find himself susceptible to such an obvious female ploy as falling into a man’s arms.

“Yes—nay—that is, the saddle slipped,” she stammered.

With a raised brow, he knelt down to check the palfrey’s girth and the girl jumped aside, more skittish than the horse. She must have been holding her breath because it suddenly came out in a rush. He skewed her a wry glance, then returned to examining the girth.

It was worn and had nearly snapped when the girl—dammit, Lady Sabina’s—weight had been added to it. It barely held together. Of course von Ziegler would give his daughter an old horse with a useless saddle, adding final insult to injury.

Wolf eyed her over his shoulder. “I don’t suppose you can ride bareback, Your Worship?”

Her plump mouth drew into a thin line. “Nay, I do not suppose I can.”

He had no pillion handy, either. He considered their other alternatives, coming up with only one, and stood up. “You’ll have to ride double with me, then.”

Her eyes widened in alarm. “I—I am sure that will not be necessary. If it is not too far, I can walk.”

“I’d hardly ride while you walked, and I am not walking.” He stifled an exasperated sound when he saw her draw up at his harsh tone. “Pardon me. Sanctuary is nearly half a league away. If you haven’t noticed, it’s about to storm. We’d catch our death of cold before we got halfway there. It’s my horse for the both of us, or you can return home with your father—if you can catch him.”

That alternative didn’t sit well with her either, it appeared. She glanced doubtfully over at his powerfully built horse, which stood seventeen hands high at the withers, and pursed her lips.

“What is his name?” she finally asked.

“What difference does it—Suleiman, his name is Suleiman,” he said, trying to unclench his teeth.

She blinked. “You named your horse after a marauding infidel?”

“He was a little difficult to train. I thought the name fit well at the time. Now, of course, he is as tame as a kitten,” he dryly assured her while Suleiman pawed at the ground and snorted. “Would you like to look at his bite and check his hooves, too? Or may we ride?”

She huffed prettily. “Master Behaim, I only wished to know his name so that we would not be strangers. If someone intended to ride me, I would certainly prefer to be introduced first.”

A slow, masculine smile spread across his face. He couldn’t help it. “Well, that’s good to know. Call me Wolf.”

DC: Do you ever argue with your characters while you’re writing? Who usually wins?

TB: I don’t argue, per se, but I do sometimes struggle with where they want to go next. The characters evolve the more I work with them, so sometimes my original intent for them might not fit the direction the story is headed. Still, I have to exert enough control as the writer to make it all work out. Otherwise, the guys toting the funny white jackets with all the buckles on them might show up on my doorstep and insist I come along quietly, now.

DC: What is sure to distract you from sitting down and working/writing?

TB: Sigh…family life. I’m a wife and a mommy to twins going into junior high school, and they seem to be extra needy right now. Plus, in my “real life” I’ve been making some major non-writing related career changes which have really kept me busy for the past year. I’m hoping my new career field will give me more leeway in my schedule so I can focus more on my writing.

DC: Gunter Behaim and Alonsa Garcia de Aranjuez are featured in The Promise. Can you give our readers some insight into their story?

TB: Günter Behaim, a professional soldier in the service of Emperor Charles V, has been hardened by betrayal and disloyalty in his life, and he has sworn to make few promises of his own and keep those until death. When his closest friend is mortally wounded on the battlefield, however, Günter pledges to marry the other man’s betrothed and keep her safe. That woman turns out to be a Spanish beauty named Alonsa García de Aranjuéz, but she will have no part of such an agreement. Trying to keep his promise, Günter uses every weapon in his romantic arsenal to convince the reluctant woman to marry him, and he begins to love her very much. Meanwhile, Alonsa is falling in love too, but she dares not reveal her feelings because she is under a curse that brings misfortune to any man who loves her. As war draws near and danger surrounds them, the couple has to make a crucial decision: accept their fates or risk everything to be together?

Excerpt from The Promise:

“I’ve waited so long,” Günter muttered. “So long ….”

The sound of metal pots clanging outside the tent reached Alonsa like a distant alarm. Abruptly, Günter’s face changed. Shock slackened his features as he looked down at his hands on her, her hands on him. He released her as though burned, and her skirts slid back into place.

She felt bereft at his withdrawal, and she took a step toward him. He threw his hands up between them, and she saw that they shook.

“Nay,” he rasped, gesturing toward the tent flap.

He seemed incapable of more than one word at a time. His chest heaved; his forehead gleamed with sweat.

Slowly, she became aware of her surroundings. She had forgotten everything: her honor, her virtue … Dios mío, Martin! Her hand flew to her mouth and shame seeped through her bones. She had forgotten even him!

“Martin.” He said the name first. A look of self-loathing crossed his face. “The day we buried him ….” He gazed around the tent and shook his head. He let his head fall forward. “I’ve dishonored my friend.”

“We,” she whispered, “have dishonored him.”

She more so than he. Günter would hate her, not want her like this, if he knew how she had caused Martin’s death. Yet, if Günter were to reach for her again, she would be unable to deny him. What she had felt, what they had done confirmed even more the vow she had sworn.

Her fear returned twice fold. She must leave. She must. For she knew with all the certainty of the heat still pounding through her body that Günter would not survive if she stayed.

With a sob, she turned away. “Go,” she begged.

“Alonsa, wait.” She felt his hand on her shoulder. “It isn’t as bad as it seems. Martin would have understood—”

She jerked away. “Por favor, go!”

He sighed from behind her.

“This is not how I would have wished it, true. I would like to have let you mourn a bit. I would like to have honored his memory for a time before ….” He stopped.

When he spoke again, she heard the wry tone in his voice.

“Before leaping on you like some wild animal. Still. It is obvious to me now that Martin understood something I did not.” He circled around to face her, and lifted her chin so that he looked into her eyes. “Alonsa, you must listen to me now. I have something important to ask you.”

She looked up at him and the intensity of his expression made her heart pound with anxiety. Please do not ….

“Will you be my wife?” he asked softly. “When the time is right? Say yes, and you will fulfill the wishes of two men.”

She backed away from him, panicked at the thought. “No! How can you ask such a thing of me? I could never marry you!”

He flinched, and she could tell she had hurt him. She had not intended that, only to warn him.

His features settled into a cold mask, his tone icy when he spoke again. “Why not? What is wrong with me? It cannot be that I am a soldier. Martin was a soldier. He seemed good enough for you.”

His eyes narrowed into points of emerald fire. He reached for her, wrapped a warm hand around the nape of her neck beneath the loose braid that lay damp against her skin.

“You have someone else in mind, mayhap?” His words cut into her. “Has some rich old merchant in the baggage train offered his jewels for your pretty neck? Has some young noble dazzled you with his shiny, untried armor?”

His thumb traced hot circles in the shallow dip just below her ear. His eyes flashed fire at her, and at their depths lay a passionate yearning that nearly undid her. “Tell him you’ve changed your mind. You belong to me.”

His possessiveness frightened her, and yet it excited her as well. Goosebumps rose along her skin in response to both his touch and his intensity.

She broke away. “Do not be ridiculous. When would I have made such plans?” She clasped her hands around her arms and tried to erase the shivers he had caused, turning her back on him. “I have no man in mind. I think now only of God.” She turned to him, straightened her back. “I have decided to consign myself to a convent. I intend to become a nun.”

His eyebrows flew up. “What?” he roared.

“Shhh! You will arouse the entire camp with your bellowing.” She glanced anxiously over his shoulder at the open tent flap.

“No more than you did with your moaning, Sister Alonsa,” he observed.

She felt the heat of a blush cover her entire body. “You confused me! You—”

“Do not say I forced you,” he softly interrupted, but she did not miss the steel in his voice. “We both know the truth.”

Her eyes locked with his. Tension vibrated between them.

She sighed and looked away. “Yes. To say otherwise would be a falsehood.” She stared at him then, willed him to understand. “It is not my intent to injure your pride or your feelings, Günter. I simply do not wish to marry you. Nor any man. It is for your sake that I refuse, not my own. Please do not ask me to explain further.” Because if he had thought her mad before, he would certainly think her so if she told him the entire truth.

He stared at her for a long moment. He stepped closer, then, towering over her. She drew back.

“Don’t be afraid.” He spoke in a soft voice, as though he sought to gentle a trapped but injured animal he wished to aid.

Do not be afraid?

From Alonsa’s vantage point, Günter seemed as imposing as a mountainside. She noted the sharp planes of his face, from the sensual slash of his mouth to the ruffled dark-blond hair that she had tangled in her fingers just moments ago. She could not look away. She clenched her trembling hands behind her, stared at his mouth, and cursed her own weakness.

“I do not fear you,” she denied feebly. Just your kisses and your touch ….

“I have always known you belonged to me.” His eyes roamed over her face. He moved closer still, until his chest brushed her breasts. “Always. Mayhap before we ever met.”

“Now who speaks as one insane?” Her voice sounded husky, as though she had just arisen from his bed after a night of ardent lovemaking.

He smiled slowly. “I want you to speak to me like that after the first time I take you,” he said in a gravelly whisper. “Low and soft, like a woman well-pleasured. Which you will be.”

Her hand moved of its own accord. The slap rang out in the quietness of the tent, her palm stinging from the force of it. Though it left a red welt across his cheek, he did not react.

He stared at her, his proud nose flaring, his green eyes narrowing to slits. He slid his hand once more around her waist and pulled her to him. She resisted the draw, pushed with her palms against his chest. He leaned into her, and she thought he would kiss her again. Instead—to her surprise—he buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. His hand rose and fisted there for a moment, but he released her. She almost fell backward from the sudden loss of his strong arms encircling her.

Günter’s jaw clenched. Then the corner of his mouth lifted in a provocative smile. He made a loose fist with one hand and gave her chin a light tap.

“Fight me, then. Run, if you must. Hide—if you can. But you will not escape your fate.” He pinned her with the heat of his gaze. “I am your fate,” he vowed, and turning on his heel, walked out of the tent.

DC: After two books now published, what’s the best experience you’ve had so far on your journey? Is there a worst experience yet? What’s the best lesson you’ve learned so far?

TB: The best experience was holding my debut novel in my hands. After six years of trying to see it published and sometimes believing it would never happen, nothing tops that. I’ve been very lucky in that I haven’t had anything I’d call a “worst” experience yet (crossing fingers) because I learn from everything—as I always say, no painful experience is ever lost; it’s all research. The best lesson I’ve learned so far is to know where to draw the line on the “business” end of publishing. Sometime writers want to be published so badly or want to attract an agent or an editor’s attention so much we can taste it. We’ll make compromises that aren’t necessarily in the best interest of either ourselves or our work to achieve that goal. I’ve learned where my line is, and I will not cross it. It’s an important lesson every writer has to learn at some point.

DC: Are more books planned for the series? Can you give us an idea of what to expect next?

TB: I don’t have another book planned for The Legacy series at this time, although there is a third brother, Peter, who certainly has an interesting story to tell. However, I’m working on another piece right now I’m very excited about: a Victorian Gothic. It’s very different in terms of content than what my readers have seen from me before, but it has all my trademark elements: passion, humor, daring, danger, and a deep, satisfying read. I can’t wait to finish it!

DC: Is there a particular genre you’d like to tackle some day?

TB: I’d like to write contemporary paranormal romance at some point. I love historicals, but the research is so much trickier and time-consuming. I think the market might be going a little soft on paranormals, however, so I’m sticking with what I do best for now.

DC: You have a couple of books that have won numerous prestigious contests. Any chance we’ll see one or more of them in bookstores one day?

TB: I doubt it. One of them contested very well but never sold, and my style has evolved so much since I wrote it, it really isn’t representative of what I can do now. Definitely an “under-the-bed-dust-bunny gatherer,” that one, although the basic premise is solid. The second one also contested well, but became a victim of that whole “compromise” thing I talked about before. I listened to too many other voices instead of my own to the point that I lost sight of my original vision for the work; my heart wasn’t really in the final result. That was nobody’s fault but my own. However, since I prefer to move forward instead of back while learning from my mistakes, it isn’t likely I will rewrite it any time soon. I really loved the original story, but I learned a lot from the writing of it that I hope I have successfully applied to what I’m working on now.

What I find very amusing is that in its unpublished state, The Legacy did horrible in contests, and The Promise, not much better. I think they were just too different for the folks who judge these types of contests to wrap their minds around. Yet these are the two books that got published. The two books that did well in contests are under the bed. Not sure what that says about either my writing or the contest world. The good news is that The Legacy did place in several published contests this year, so maybe the perception that “outside-the-box” doesn’t sell is slowly changing.

DC: What advice would you give to your younger self?

TB: Start sooner. Dream bigger. Don’t sell yourself short. And don’t wear capris. They make your calves look wide.

DC: If you were a book, what would your blurb be?

TB: Hmmm. I have no idea. Maybe, “Like The Little Engine That Could, a middle-age soccer mom learns a life lesson:‘it’s never too late to dream.’” Ick, that was horrible. I’d have to work on that a while to make it cover copy worthy. Sorry.

DC: What would be your “voice’s” tagline?

TB: Well, it’s the brand I use: “Dark and Daring Romance.” What that means to me is that I’m not afraid to go dark places with my characters’ emotions, and I’m not afraid to do something different. My stories explore the full range of human emotion, which can be funny, scary, passionate, inspiring, and not always pretty.

DC: If you had never become an author, what do you think you would be doing right now?

TB: Isn’t it interesting that I can’t even go there? I’ve always had a career—in fact, I’ve had several. I guess I’d be doing one of those. I’ve been a contract negotiator, a trainer, a business owner, and a college educator. None of those has ever satisfied me the way being a writer has, but they have paid the bills.

DC: What’s on the horizon for TJ Bennett?

TB: As I mentioned earlier, with my “real life” calming down a bit (she crosses fingers again, praying that Nature will not notice and then abhor the vacuum left open, thereby filling it with something not having to do with her writing career), I’ll be able to get down to seriously finishing my current WIP. My hero is devastating, my heroine brilliant, and the story surprises me daily. I wish I knew how it ended!

Lightning Round:

– dark or milk chocolate? – mmmmilk
– smooth or chunky peanut butter? – smooth
– heels or flats? – flats (I have square feet. Square feet do not balance on the ends of stiletto heels without something being broken, usually an ankle or possibly a toe.)
– coffee or tea? – Tea (unless it’s 5:30am and I’m freaking unable to form a coherent sentence but have to get in the car and drive amongst the unsuspecting populace, in which case coffee is just the thing.)
– summer or winter? – winter
– mountains or beach? – mountains (because no one, including myself, wants to see me in a bikini on the beach. Frankly, no one wants to see me in a bikini in the mountains, either).
– mustard or mayonnaise? – mustard, but only if it is honey mustard
– flowers or candy? – candy (please reference above response to chocolate and beach questions)
– pockets or purse? – Purse. I could be stranded on a desert island with nothing but my purse, and I could survive for a week.
– Pepsi or Coke? – “Coke, no Pepsi.”
– ebook or print? – Print, mostly, but Kindle is converting me.

Because folks like them:

1. What is your favorite word? – petard
2. What is your least favorite word? – pus
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally? – Love and romance (really)
4. What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally? – Intolerance—especially from those who claim to be more tolerant than me, but won’t tolerate my views because they aren’t like theirs. In other words, as long as I believe in the same things you do, we’ll get along fine? Pffft!
5. What sound or noise do you love? – “Pffft!” I love saying that. It’s so expressive, you can duplicate it in writing, and it drives my husband nuts. What’s not to like?
6. What sound or noise do you hate? – Raised voices in anger. I cannot tolerate it. There are other ways to get your point across. If you can’t do it with some semblance of vocal control, go away until you can.
7. What is your favorite curse word? – I don’t curse (she said, fluttering her eyelashes daintily).
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? – Ooo. Good one. I’d love to have been an archeologist. Or an astronomer. Or an astronaut! Any of those scientific jobs that start with an “A.” I think they are so cool. I’m such a geek.
9. What profession would you not like to do? – A waitress. Not that the job isn’t honorable—exactly the opposite. I just don’t think I could put up with the endless stream of jerks waitresses have to deal with on a daily basis. Someone would have to die.
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? – “I loved your last book!” Wait, wait! That sounds so egocentric. Let me try again. “Well done, my child.” Really, that’s the one I’d like to hear. That I didn’t screw up too bad while I was here.

DC: LOL! Thank you so much, TJ, for being with us! It was a lot of fun.