Monica Beggs is more than the hottest porn star out on DVD--she's Finn Daniel's next assignment.
Lights. Camera. Lube?
Famous
porn star Monica Beggs wrapped up another grueling on-location movie
shoot when the Colombian cartel attempted to kidnap her. Their guns are
as real as the price on her pretty head.
Former
Special Ops and present day surfer, Finn Daniels recognizes a lady in
distress when he sees one—especially if it’s his adult film crush being
hustled out the door. He’s no longer in the business of busting up the
underworld, but that doesn’t deflect his moral compass.
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Can you tell us a little bit
about where you are from?
I live 15 minutes from the beach in a little town on California’s
central coast. We don’t have a traffic signal or a Starbucks, but on one side
of the main street through town we have a mercantile and on the other is a farm
and ranch supply. I love it here. Wildlife is everywhere; bears, mountain
lions, golden and bald eagles, deer, and lots of wild pigs, to name a few. It’s
unfortunate that big money from the cities have bought up a few ranches and
have plans to develop them into housing tracts.
What does
your writing desk look like? What would we find on it right this minute? (Have
fun with this question. If your desk is a mess, tell us! J include a
picture if you’d like)
Once in a while I’ll go through my folders,
and all the little slips of paper stuffed between books, and clean it all out.
Reference books are on the top shelf to the right and middle shelf to the left.
I’m out of wine, so that’s a glass of Kahlua. Notes to myself are straight
ahead and candy is hidden behind the picture of the sexy hunk.
When and why
did you begin writing?
About five years ago, my husband found me in
my comfy chair next to the window with my nose stuck in another book. At the
time, I devoured 2-3 books per week. I’m not talking novellas either. He said
to me, “I bet you could write a book. Why don’t you try?” For the next year, my
family barely saw me from when dinner dishes were cleared until it was time for
the kids to go to bed. I didn’t have my own computer back then, so I used my
older son’s desktop model that he’d received as a Christmas present from my
father-in-law the year before. I loved every moment of it. The book, Remedy
Maker, my paranormal-fantasy romance, went on to win a Reviewer’s Choice Award
and First Runner Up in the Fantasy category.
At what
point did you first consider yourself a writer?
A critique partner once told me, “You’re a
writer until you’re published. Then, you’re an author.”
Do you have
a specific writing style? In other words, are you a
plotter or a pantser?
I’ve tried both methods and a few things
in-between. Therefore, I know I’ll write better when I can plot things out.
I’ll write the story from beginning to end. There’s many authors who can write
scenes out of order. I’m not one of them.
How did you
come up with the titles to your book(s)?
Each book title came about in a different
way. With MONICA BEGGS, I wanted a title that’d stop readers in their tracks.
Something that would cause them to take a second look. When you read the book’s
blurb and understand she’s an adult film actress, then the title takes on two
meanings—but which one is right? Or are they both? *grin*
Do you write
about things similar to your own life experiences?
No, not too many porn queens calling me up to
have coffee. I don’t know of any Colombian Cartel mafia types either. But
living where I do, we have ESPN televised surfing competitions, like the one
mentioned in the story.
If you had to choose, which writer would you
consider a mentor?
What book would we find you reading right
now?
Are there any new authors that have grasped
your interest?
What are you
currently working on? Can you give us a sneak peek?
I’m waffling over two different stories in
two entirely separate romance genres. I have a time-travel western I’ve been
working on for what seems like forever, and a paranormal-fantasy based in the
same shape-shifting world as my Centaur series.
Here’s an unedited bit from the Time-Travel:
Removing
his hat, Trey knocked on the door and waited.
Holly
approached, smiling as she wiped her hands on a worn-out hand towel and opened
the screen door. Without the hat covering her eyes, she truly jangled his
spurs.
“Thanks
for putting up my horse. Come on in.” She walked back into the kitchen. “After
all the hiking, I figured you boys might want something cold to drink.”
“Thank
you, ma’am.”
Six
tall glasses of brown water, complete with tinkling ice cubes, lined a neat row
on the faded counter. Foul wells were common, especially when there’d been a
lack of rain and a previous summer’s heat.
Not
wanting to seem ungracious, Trey forced his upper lip from curling in distaste.
As he glanced around the kitchen, unease skittered across his nerves. Nothing
seemed familiar—no wood burning stove with a tall black pipe, no cast iron pans
hung from the wall.
Instead,
a large white box with double-doors hummed near a doorway, shiny countertops
reflected the outdoor sun. Strange green numbers glowed on the face of another
box, this one small and black, which sat on the counter in the corner.
Before
Holly gathered up the glasses, Trey cleared his throat and caught her
attention. “When did you say your ranch was built?”
She
smiled, looking over the kitchen. “Gosh, it’s been here forever…almost a
hundred years now. My parents had it renovated before we moved in.”
Nearly a century?
Holly’s
voice held obvious pride. “My family is the second owner.”
Eyes
greener than spring grass traveled over his features as she stepped closer.
“Looks like you went face first into a sticker bush.”
Trey
lifted his hand to touch a tender spot below his eye. His fingers came away
with dried blood.
“Why
don’t you wash up before your cuts get infected?” She nudged him toward the
sink.
Though
her style of clothing was very odd, he appreciated the sight the form-fitting
pants offered as she turned toward an upper cabinet and removed a noisy yellow
bag with white lettering that spelled Lays.
He did his best to ignore the twinge below his belt, though his eyes weren’t up
for the challenge.
Dog
tired from riding the trail for days with little sleep—add unknown entities
beating him up in a pitch-black cave—and what red-blooded man wouldn’t become
heated seeing a beautiful woman’s backside?
Trey
pried his eyes off her ass with a pair of resolute mental pliers and stood like
an idiot at the sink, wondering how the skinny pump handle worked. He lifted
the silver lever, surprised at its light weight, and jumped when a strong flow
of clear water shot out of the tap.
He
flicked a suspicious glance to the drinks on the counter. Clear— not brown like
the liquid in the glasses. Pushing the handle down, the water stopped. Pulling
up, the water blasted out again.
Indoor plumbing. He’d heard some of the wealthier
families in Sacramento had installed running water in their homes, though he’d
never seen it before.
If
her family was well off, why wouldn’t the barn and house have a fresh coat of paint?
Things just seemed tired and worn.
“Soap’s
next to the sink.”
Trey
glanced at Holly, who busied herself by dumping the contents of the yellow bag
into a bowl. He rolled up his sleeves and spotted an orange bottle next to the
sink with liquid soap written in a fancy hand. An easy press on the top of the pump
dispensed a fragrant cream that quickly lathered.
The
cuts stung as he washed his arms and face clean, and then dried off with the sheets
of paper Holly placed on the counter beside him for his use.
A paper towel?
“Trash
can’s under the sink.” Concern narrowed her eyes and she tilted her head to one
side. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head or something? I have aspirin if you
need some.”
Trey
balled the squares of paper in his fist. The burn in his gut said something
wasn’t right. “What year did you say your family purchased this ranch?”
“Dad
bought the Rafter L Bar back in ‘68.” She worried her bottom lip with her
teeth. “If you need to see the deed or papers confirming—”
“1868?”
That would mean they’d just purchased the ranch last year.
“What?
No, 1968. The same year Martin Luther King was killed.”
Martin
who? A loud hum vibrated in his head about the same time
he ran out of air. Through the window over the sink, he watched his men inspect
a boxy, four-wheeled metal contraption, with Tanner crawling under the device.
On the counter in the corner, a much smaller box-type object blinked green
numbers like the eyes of a rat.
© Sheri Fredricks 2015
Do you see writing as a career? Do you write full time? Or in addition
to another job?
I see myself writing not only as a career,
but something I’ll do for the rest of my life. That's how much I truly enjoy
the work. But really, it’s not work—it’s fun! However, I do have other prior
commitments in my life that can’t be ignored, such as being the office manager
for my husband’s contracting business. The good part is we have a home office,
so I’m able to shut the door to his business and open the computer armoire to
mine. And I have to say, I love the commute! I try to write 3 to 6 hours a day,
though sometimes promoting my books and marketing them will take a huge bite of
the daily slice.
Do you have
anything else you’d like to add?
I love meeting and talking with people on
Facebook! I hope you’ll friend me and drop a line.
Author Bio
Always on the hunt for the uncommon
things in life, award-winning author Sheri Fredricks thrives on creating
adventures in her contemporary stories, mythological kingdom, and
soon-to-be-released western time-travels series.
A former engineering secretary, she
lives on California’s beautiful central coast. "I wanted to move away from
a profession of inflexible right angles and create an unboxed world with no
boundaries." A voracious reader since her early years, Sheri found her
brain crowded with stories of her own. "Ultimately," she says,
"my husband encouraged me to write them all down."
Winner of the Paranormal Romance
Guild Reviewer’s Choice Award, and multiple Finalist for InD’Tale Magazine’s
Reward Of Novel Excellence (RONE) award, she has numerous five-star reviews
everywhere eBooks are sold.
Sheri loves to spend time at home
and connecting with readers. A computer hutch keeps her focused on creating
stories, but the panoramic view of life on a ranch will call her outside to
play in the sun.
Website: www.sherifredricks.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/Sheri_Fredricks
Facebook: http://www.Facebook.com/SheriFredricks
Google+: http://is.gd/VmLa5I
Author Info: http://www.amazon.com/Sheri-Fredricks/e/B008L3T50Y/
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/sherifredricks
Don't
forget to stop at the other hosts for this tour so you don't miss a
single peek into this book or what this author has to offer!
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