Glad you made it back to Duck Chat!

Alissa Johnson is an historical author I discovered earlier this year. I love her work so much that I wanted to introduce her to those of you who have yet to discover her. Alissa’s Providence series has been a fun time for me so far, books following characters who are set up by a matchmaker who promised a dying man to take care of his children. Her characters are delightful, as well as her stories, and I hope you will give Alissa’s book a try in the near future. 

Be sure to leave us a meaningful comment or question because Alissa is offering three autographed copies of each of her books for giveaway while she’s here at the Pond, with McAlistair’s Fortune as the grand prize.  And check out my review of McAlistair’s Fortune!

Now let’s chat with Alissa!

DUCK CHAT: Alissa, I personally have really enjoyed your Regency series that begins with As Luck Would Have It, which is followed by Tempting Fate and then McAlistair’s Fortune, which releases this month. You have a very distinctive voice which lures the reader into feeling like they’re in 19th Century London attending a ton ball or taking a carriage ride around town. Has the historical genre always been your favorite or did you perhaps start someplace else before finding your niche?

AJ: Thanks so much, Sandy!  I was lucky enough to find my niche right off the bat. Although I enjoy every sub-genre of romance, historical was my first love both as a reader, and a writer.

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

AJ: “How soon can you get this done?” For obvious reasons, I avoid answering whenever possible.

DC: Would you tell us the concept behind your Providence series and where the idea for it came from?

AJ: The characters in the Providence series are connected by blood, friendship, and the attempts of William Fletcher, head of England’s War Department, to fulfill a very inconvenient death-bed promise he made—or was tricked into making to hear him tell it–to the late Duke of Rockeforte. It requires he find love for five children dear to Rockeforte’s heart.

The idea came after I read a long string of romances featuring spies, all of which were fairly serious in tone. I loved each and every one of them. But my writing lends itself more easily to humor, and having the powerful head of England’s War Department thrust into the role of reluctant matchmaker seemed the perfect way to continue the fine tradition of regency espionage, and have some fun with it as well.

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?

AJ: Absolutely. As a “wing-it” kind of writer (I can almost hear the groans of disgust from outliners) I’m very often surprised by the direction my stories take. Tempting Fate and McAlistair’s Fortune both turned out to be very different books than I had first envisioned. But letting characters choose their own paths works well for me. And they seem to like it.

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

AJ: I do. How embarrassing. Sometimes the paths they choose require extra work on my part, like having to rewrite a chapter or edit out a scene I adore. Naturally, this ticks me off a little. 😆 I think my stats at this point are something like 0 for 10K.

Have a little look at As Luck Would Have It:

It was the general opinion of those who had the pleasure of her acquaintance for more than a fortnight, that Miss Sophie Everton had the most extraordinary luck of any human being in living memory.

It was also agreed to be a shame, really, that said luck did not limit itself to being of the beneficial variety, but was remarkable instead by its consistency and balance.

Sophie’s experiences with providence ranged from the mundane to the miraculous to the catastrophic. But without fail, every windfall was paid for with disaster, and every misfortune was tempered with a boon.

By four-and-twenty, Sophie had nearly become someone’s seventh wife, been lost in a South American Jungle, and been shot straight through the arm with an arrow launched by a drunken hunter.

In return, she had been saved from unwilling participation in matrimony by the unexpected death of the presiding wise man (her betrothed could not help but think this was something of a bad omen and paid her half a dozen healthy goats just to go away), had inadvertently stumbled across a previously unknown—and fortuitously friendly—tribe in the jungle, and had inherited a rather lovely townhouse in a fashionable London neighborhood—deeded to her upon death by the childless and remorseful archer.

Such an existence would likely reduce most young women to a state of perpetual hysteria. Being of sound mind, reasonable intelligence, and, oh very well, slightly reckless nature, Sophie considered it a wondrous, if occasionally messy, life of adventure. It was also, she was wont to point out, wholly unavoidable. As such, she found it advantageous to keep a smile on her face and a wary eye on the world.

Much as she was now smiling warily at the gentleman sitting next to her on the deck of The Sailing Diamond. Easily in his late sixties, and with endearing gray eyes, and a mass of white hair tied at the nape of his neck in a style two decades out of fashion, the man reminded Sophie of her father.

It was to be noted, however, that her father was not currently onboard the ship that would be, in two hours time, delivering his daughter to English soil for her first visit in nearly twelve years.

This man, of the kind eyes and unfortunate hair, had been a complete stranger until five minutes ago.

And a very strange five minutes it had been, she mused. She’d snuck out from under the nose of her much loved, but often exhausting, chaperone in the hope of finding a moment of solitude and then, before she’d had the chance to so much as fully settle herself comfortably on a bench, this odd little man had sat himself down, and pressed a letter into her hand. A letter bearing the seal of the Prince Regent. Then he’d gone on to introduce himself as Mr. Smith and asked her, in the name of the crown, to please accept a mission of colossal national import. To which she now replied:
“Hmm.”

And because it’s just as wonderful, how about something from Tempting Fate:

There was some disagreement regarding the origins of the long-standing and bitter feud between Miss Mirabelle Browning and Whittaker Cole, the Earl of Thurston.

The lady in question was of the opinion that the discord had begun the first time the gentleman—and she used the term most loosely—deigned to open his mouth and thereby proved himself to be an ass.

The gentleman—loath to be outdone—argued that the dislike had appeared directly upon sight, which was an obvious indication of fate. And as providence was the domain of the Heavenly Father himself, any and all unseemly behavior toward Miss Browning on his part was clearly an indication of the Almighty’s disfavor with the lady, and he but an instrument of God’s wrath.

The lady felt this opinion argued strongly in favor of the gentleman being an ass.

Some said it all began when a young Mirabelle caused the slightly older Whit to fall head first out of a rowboat in front of the lovely Miss Wilheim, who promptly slipped and fell overboard herself, putting an end to their brief but dramatic romance. Others maintained that the whole business had started when a mischievous Whit had put a large bug down the back of Mirabelle’s dress during a musicale, causing the girl to jump, scream, swat madly, and otherwise endanger the people around her.

Still others insisted they really had no care for when or how it had all begun, merely that they wished it to end. Immediately, if not sooner. Everyone, however, was in accord over the fact that the two, quite simply, did not get on.

So infamous was their rivalry, that had anyone been watching as the two of them scowled at each other over a dandy horse on the back lawn of Haldon Hall, the Thurston estate, he or she would have sighed in resignation even while beating a sensible, and hasty, retreat to safety.
Fortunately for the group of people currently attending the house party, Whit and Mirabelle stood alone, each with a hand on the new wheeled contraption and, much like two children fighting over a toy, each equally determined to gain sole purchase.

As a sensible and—under most conditions—respectably reserved young woman, Mirabelle was perfectly aware of the ridiculousness and pettiness of the situation. As an honest young woman, she could admit that very little else would suit her current mood quite so well as the ridiculous and petty.
A rousing good argument was just what she needed. As always, Whit was more than willing to oblige.

“Let go, imp.”

As was his habit when truly annoyed, Whit clenched his jaw when he spoke. Mirabelle was fond of pointing out that the resulting muffled effect took something away from the impact. Just now, however, she was feeling a bit more mulish than witty.

“I see no reason I should,” she retorted, tipping her chin up.

“Likely because you couldn’t see reason if it were perched on the end of your nose.” He gave the horse a tug, which only succeeded in making her dig her heels into the soft ground. “You don’t even know how to use it.”

“I certainly do. One sits there between the two wheels, holds on to the bars, and pushes with the feet. I’ll show you—”

“No. You’re not riding it.”

A mere ten minutes ago, she hadn’t given a single thought to riding the blasted thing. She’d merely been curious about it. But while she’d been standing there in the warm sun, amusing herself by turning the machine this way and that to discover how it was all put together, Whit had come round the house and ordered her, ordered her, not to get on it.

She’d taken a good look at him, with his light brown hair tousled by the breeze, his cool blue eyes sparking, and his aristocratic features set in grim lines. Every inch of his tall, lanky frame spoke of power that took root in wealth, title, lands, and the sheer luck of having been born a man. The very same sort of power her uncle used to keep her under his thumb.

And she decided she wanted to ride the damn thing after all.

“You said it was for guests, cretin,” she pointed out.

“You’re not a guest at Haldon.”

She let go and stepped back, completely stunned by six words that meant more to her than he could possibly know. “I…that is the kindest—”
“You’re an affliction,” he clarified, hefting the horse up. “Like dry rot.”

She lunged and grabbed hold of the seat with both hands.

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

AJ: The phone is a big distraction for me. I feel like if it rings, I have to answer it, which is why I generally turn it off when I’m writing.

DC: How do you feel your male or female characters have evolved over your career? Do you think you write them differently now than you did when you started?

AJ: I’m still at an early stage in my writing career, so I haven’t noticed a vast change overall.

I can say, however, that McAlistair is a very different hero from those in the first two books of the Providence series. Alex from As Luck Would Have It and Whit from Tempting Fate are both very eloquent, very charming peers of the realm. McAlistair, on the other hand, is an exceedingly taciturn man who spent significant portions of his life as either an assassin or a hermit.

Evie is unique as well in that she is my first heroine to have physical scars. Writing her in a way that allowed those scars to impact who she is, but not define who she is was a fun challenge.

DC: Do you have a favorite character within the series so far? If so, who and why?
AJ: I love all my characters, of course, but I’m particularly fond of Mirabelle from Tempting Fate, and her very sharp tongue. I think my fascination with her stems from envy. I’m the sort of person who comes up with the perfect retort—and I’m going to be generous here– twenty minutes too late.

DC: Is there a genre you haven’t tackled but would like to try?

AJ: I’m open to most sub-genres of romance, but I don’t have an interest in moving to an entirely different genre. I love my HEAs.

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

AJ: Worry less about other people’s opinions. And use more moisturizer. Please.

DC: McAlistair’s Fortune is just now on the shelves Can you tell us a little about the hero and heroine and what we can expect from their book?

AJ: Readers can expect a lot of humor from McAlistair’s Fortune, along with intrigue, adventure in the form of a regency style road trip, and characters that are a not only different from my previous heroes and heroines, but very different from each other. McAlistair is a solitary and elusive man, much preferring to remain uninvolved with the world at large, while Evie is a social reformer. She doesn’t just prefer to be involved, she insists on it.

A super special treat, an excerpt from McAlistair’s Fortune:

It was conceivable that ten years ago, Mr. James McAlistair would have laughed out loud at the notion that he might one day fall in love. It was easier to imagine, however, that he would have simply hooked up one corner of his mouth in the sort of cool and unfathomable expression that can really only be successfully affected by either a profound poet or a talented assassin.

Anyone looking at him now— standing on the grounds of Haldon Hall, his dark gaze unreadable, and his tall frame honed to the muscled leanness of a panther— would have a diffi cult time mistaking him for the former.

Pity, that.

Because despite what his reaction may, or may not, have been ten years ago, McAlistair had indeed fallen in love. And a man in love could always use the gifts of a poet.

Particularly when burdened with the sins of an assassin.

Reflecting on those sins now, he rolled his shoulders in a rare, albeit barely perceptible, show of nerves.

He shouldn’t be there.

With Evie Cole in danger, though, he couldn’t possibly be anywhere else. He scanned the lawn before him, mapping out his path before taking a step. “Act in haste, repent in leisure,” his dear, departed, and no doubt often repentant mother had been fond of saying. An interesting bit of advice from a woman who’d birthed six bastards.

He moved forward silently, keeping to the long shadows in the late evening light. It was a precaution taken out of habit more than necessity. He’d already checked the grounds and woods immediately surrounding the house for signs of an intruder. All was as it should be. And he knew, down
to a branch, exactly how it should be.

Those woods had, after all, been his humble home for years. Long years of hardship and solitude— of trying to atone for, or perhaps just forget, the heavy burden of his memories.

The forest would be his home still if he’d had his say in the matter, but William Fletcher, his one- time employer and current thorn in his side, had been steadily pushing him back into the world over the past few months.

McAlistair had capitulated to a point— walking away from the old forgotten hunting cabin he used during inclement weather and buying an equally old, but slightly less secluded cabin just outside the Haldon estate. He was making use of the money he’d earned from the War Department. Money he’d thought he would never touch. He had an armoire filled with the clothing of a gentleman. He owned the fine gray mare he’d just slipped into the Haldon stables. But those trappings were as far into the realm of society as he was willing to venture. He wanted to be left alone, to live as he pleased. And he would . . . as soon as this business with Evie was sorted out.

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

AJ: Working full-time for the family business. We hand paint children’s furniture. . .Well, I don’t–I can’t draw a stick figure without putting six heads on it—I help out by priming the wood, organizing the books, etc. I prefer being an author.

DC: What’s next up in the series after McAlistair’s Fortune?
AJ: The fourth book in the Providence series will be Kate and Mr. Hunter’s story, slated to be released in late ’09 or early ‘10. The extra time scheduled between the release of the third and fourth books was to make room for the fall release of A Christmas Ball–an exciting holiday anthology I’m doing with Jennifer Ashley and Emily Bryan. As much as I love my Providence cast, and I do, I have to say it was a lot of fun to play with all new characters.

Lightning Round:

– dark or milk chocolate? — Milk, unless there’s mint involved.
– smooth or chunky peanut butter? — Smooth
– heels or flats? — Flats
– coffee or tea? — Coffee
– summer or winter? — Summer. Hands. Down.
– mountains or beach? — Beach
– mustard or mayonnaise? — Mayo
– flowers or candy? Flowers. — No candy. No. . .crap, did I lose?
– pockets or purse? — Pockets
– Pepsi or Coke? — Coke
– ebook or print? — Print

And some more fun stuff:

1. What is your favorite word? — More
2. What is your least favorite word? — Pussywillow. Does anyone like that word?
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally? — Sunny days
4. What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally? — Cloudy days
5. What sound or noise do you love? — The roar of a fighter plane
6. What sound or noise do you hate? — Loud chewing
7. What is your favorite curse word? — Crap.
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? — Attempt – Naturalist. Be really, really good at – Cellist.
9. What profession would you not like to do? — Anything that required I work in a bureaucracy.
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? — “Welcome.”

DC: Alissa, thank you for a wonderful interview!