What inspired you to become an author?
I guess I have always been a writer. You could say I write because I must. I think most writers feel that way.
Do you have a specific writing style?
I write in multiple genres so each voice in each genre is different but I’m told I have tells in my writing styles that cross over.
Do you write in different genres?
Yes. I write in multiple genres and under two pen names. Under LaVerne Thompson I write: contemporary, fantasy and sci/fi romance as well as romantic suspense. Under Ursula Sinclair I write new adult romance.
If yes which is your favorite genre to write?
I love them all but I do have a tendency toward fantasy.
How did you come up with the title for your latest book?
Angel Rising Redemption. The title I didn’t come up with until after I wrote the prologue but by the time I had the first chapter written I also had the title for the book. Since it was about fallen angels who were seeking their redemption here on earth the title seemed pretty easy.
Do you title the book first or wait until after it’s complete?
Sometimes I’ve started a story based on a title. Lol But usually by the time I’m into the first three chapters of a story I’ve got the title.
Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
That we all make choices and even not to choose is a choice and not always the right one.
Is the book, characters, or any scenes based on a true life experience, someone you know, or events in your own life?
Lol I hope not.
What book are you reading now?
-The Dom Wars Lucian Bane. I love that man’s style. lol
What books are in your to read pile?
lol there are over 200 books in my TRP.
What is your current “work in progress” or upcoming projects?
I actively work on 2 or 3 stories at a time. And have enough ongoing projects well into 2017. Right now the two documents open are Dragon’s Blood- The Story of the Brethren and Wolfin-The Otherworlders that should both be released late 2015. But tomorrow I’ll be working on The Dancer- The Ballerina Series Book 3. And I have another release that should be out in Mar. Living On The Edge. And in the spring will work on the re-release for Chances Are. I can go on but like I said I’m occupied through 2017.
Can you share a little of your current work in progress with us?
This is from The Dancer- The Ballerina Series Book 3 by Urusla Sinclair.
The little boy ran through the woods for a long time screaming for his mommy or daddy, but in truth he’d lost his voice a while ago now. His cries for help came out only inbetween sobs. Didn’t matter anyway, no one answered him, and he saw not another living soul. Not even an animal, but the wind rushed through the trees and he heard noises of things scurrying around him. Still he ran, his voice hoarse, nothing but a whimper now.
He hurt all over, his arms and legs had long scratches on most of his exposed skin from running through the bushes. His green t-shirt and shorts were ripped in places and dirty. Moss covered him from his blond head to sneakered feet, because he’d fallen a few times.
His stomach cramped in hunger and he couldn’t stop his whimpers. Exhausted, he finally froze where he stood. His little body refused to go another step, his brain shut down. He stopped, and rested beside a tree his back against the bark and curled up into a ball. The moon had risen, that and the stars in the sky were the only things breaking though the overwhelming dark. He glanced wildly around him, but all he saw where frightening shadows looming toward him.
He didn’t want to be scared anymore so he squeezed his eyes shut, to keep the monsters at bay and prayed really hard, like his mother had taught him. Every time he heard a noise he trembled, but he was too tired to run any more, too tired to move. Finally, blessedly, from sheer exhaustion and terror the child fell into a deep sleep.
Do you have to travel much to do research for your books?
I let my fingers do my traveling across my key board lol, but I also travel quite a bit and pick up a thing or two from these travels that I use in my storylines. Like the scene in Central Park in Angel Rising. I was actually in Central Park staring at a bird seated on the back of a bench when the scene with Thalya in the park came to me. lol
Who designed the cover of your latest book?
The fabulous Fiona Jayde. She’s done quite a few of my bookcovers. I love her! http://fionajaydemedia.com
Do you have any advice for other writers?
No matter what keep writing. Sometimes it’s not always easy but you still have to do it. No matter what.
Angel Rising Redemption
Redemption
Book 1
LaVerne Thompson
Genre: paranormal/ interracial romance
Publisher: Isisindc Publishing
Date of Publication: January 2, 2015
ISBN: TBD
ASIN: TBD
Number of pages: 248
Word Count: 91,272
Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde
Book Description:
To walk the earth she must feed her hollow soul.
Some of the most beautiful people in the world are not human. They have no soul, feel no emotion and are pure evil. You can tell by the color of their dark, dead eyes. Samuel Glaus knows this. He is the son of a human mother and soulless father. He is after all half human and a hunter of the soulless. He is also in love with one who cannot love him back.
Thalya is a soulless creature, but unlike others of her kind, she does not kill to feed her hollow soul. She hungers only for emotion and above all, she hungers for Samuel’s love. Her enemy. Her redemption. And she’s willing to kill for it.
Adult situations. Violence. Must be 18+
Some of the most beautiful people in the world are not human. They have no soul, feel no emotion and are pure evil. You can tell by the color of their dark, dead eyes. Samuel Glaus knows this. He is the son of a human mother and soulless father. He is after all half human and a hunter of the soulless. He is also in love with one who cannot love him back.
Thalya is a soulless creature, but unlike others of her kind, she does not kill to feed her hollow soul. She hungers only for emotion and above all, she hungers for Samuel’s love. Her enemy. Her redemption. And she’s willing to kill for it.
Adult situations. Violence. Must be 18+
Excerpt:
Opening up her
senses, she sniffed out the most depressed in the city block around her. While
she had no human sense of smell, the scents of emotions to her were as potent,
as humans would say a bouquet of freshly cut roses.
Right across the
street a man entered the park. The scent of his depression floated right to her
on the wind. Hot, potent and yummy, she would feed on it for a few days. There
were no others of her kind in the area, so she wouldn’t have to warn anyone
off. Although, quite a few soulless resided in New York, the size of the area
ensured she didn’t run into others if she didn’t want to, which she usually
didn’t.
Going back
inside her penthouse condo, she walked across thick sand-colored carpet. Her
artist friend, Franklin, would have both loved and hated the great room. Loved
it for the cool colors—reds, beiges, and golds. Those had been his favorites,
but then she’d stuck a long, extra-wide black leather sofa smack in the center
of it. He hated leather and black.
Franklin, long
gone…just another from her past.
She put on her
long coat, and headed for her private elevator. She didn’t need it but she
wanted to blend in. Tonight she would act normal. Normal, at least for a human.
As an additional benefit, when she walked through her lobby to get to the
street, she would open her senses to her immediate surroundings, sampling a
taste of surface emotions as she passed by.
Not all of her
kind could suck out emotion without touch but as an olden, one from a time long
past and more powerful than most, she could. But other things also set her
apart from those like her. She did not need to kill her providers or have them
kill others to satisfy her needs. Draining humans of their depression, her
emotion of choice, more than satisfied her. Humans carried it in abundance. She
merely put her providers to sleep and afterwards, they usually woke up feeling
less depressed. Hers represented a more symbiotic relationship. She actually
helped people, much like a psychiatrist would. Only, instead of talking them
out of their depression, she drained it right out of them.
The elevator
door opened and she got on.
The hotel where
she lived also housed private residences, but a few guests milled around the
lobby for the evening. Just enough people around with some serious issues to
make her grin and tremble within her ankle-length leather coat.
“Delicious,” she
purred. Red knee high stiletto boots clicked as she crossed the polished marble
floor. She ignored the appreciative looks of the men and women as she glided
among them, intentionally projecting a do not approach compulsion. Look but don’t
touch, unless she was the one doing the touching.
The doorman
opened the door for her and smiled. “Good evening. Cold one tonight.” Bundled
in layers and with a wool cap on his head, he stood directly beneath a heating
vent to stay warm.
He always spoke.
She rarely did and tonight, she didn’t. She flashed him some teeth in the
semblance of a smile. At least she hoped it looked like a smile and not a
grimace. Happiness. It rolled off him in waves. She’d never tried draining that
emotion from her providers, although over the centuries she’d met a few of her
kind who preferred it. Anything to fill the void in the soulless place. But
stealing someone else’s happiness always seemed unnecessary to her. Depression
worked just fine.
Out on the
sidewalk, the scent hit her again. Like a shining point of light in dark woods,
the depressed man she’d sensed beckoned her to follow him. After crossing the
street, Thalya entered the park. It didn’t take long to find him.
He sat on a
bench at the other end of the park, leaning over with his head in his hands.
She wouldn’t be
able to read his thoughts until she actually touched him. No matter, she sensed
his depression.
She sat on the
bench next to him; he didn’t even bother to look up. Thalya placed her hand on
his shoulder and her inner feminine muscles contracted to the point, she almost
had an orgasm.
Depression, and
so potent.
“Mmm, good,” she
murmured.
At her touch, he
raised red-rimmed eyes in her direction.
Finally, she had
his attention.
He pulled back
slightly, some form of self-preservation kicking in. “Who—are you?”
“Shhh. It will
be all right. I promise,” she whispered.
The man sat up
and she wrapped her arms around him.
Unable to help
himself, he let her.
Hmm, handsome.
She always seemed to gravitate toward the young, good-looking ones, although
she’d never sleep with any of them. Well, hardly ever. She nuzzled the side of
his neck. Under the alcohol he’d indulged in, he exuded a nice clear human
scent. Given his emotional state, she’d expected the scent of alcohol to be
stronger. Surprisingly she only caught a slight whiff. No more than a beer.
Maybe he just started on his drinking for the evening. Didn’t matter. Whatever
he’d ingested, she didn’t care about.
“What—?”
She didn’t give
him a chance to say more. Instead, she made her way to his mouth, which opened
as soon as she pressed her lips against his. Unleashing her powers, she inhaled
his depression into the starving emptiness that should have housed her soul,
and at the same time, began to read his memories.
Poor thing.
Karl, yes…Karl Hammer. He’d recently lost his job and his wife, pregnant with
their first child, didn’t know about it. He’d swallowed his pride and asked his
blood uncle of sorts for help. Except Karl hadn’t spoken to his uncle in years.
Mmm, interesting. She probed for the reason why.
Samuel and the
others like him lived a dangerous life. Samuel, a master hunter of the soulless
and Karl, merely—bait.
About the Author:
LaVerne Thompson is an award winning, best-selling, multi-published author, an avid reader and a writer of contemporary, fantasy, and sci/fi sensual romances. She also writes romantic suspense and new adult romance under the pen name Ursula Sinclair.
She is currently working on several projects. Both of her daughters are now away at college. However, she and her husband don’t like the term empty nester. She’s added a cat to the household to keep the dog of the house company. Hopefully writing will keep her sane.
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