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.
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.
Author Info: http://www.amazon.com/Sheri-Fredricks/e/B008L3T50Y/
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