L. Marie Wood is a Golden Stake Award- and two-time Bookfest Award-winning, Ignyte Award and two-time Bram Stoker Award® nominated author.  She is also a MICO Award-winning screenwriter, a Rhysling nominated poet, and accomplished essayist. She is also the Vice President of the Horror Writers Association, founder of the Speculative Fiction Academy, an English/Creative Writing professor, and a horror scholar. With a list of accomplishments and accolades that long, it just made sense to chat with Lisa about her favorite author.

Her selection of an author whose works were not only best-sellers but also enjoyed successful translations to film showcases the power of impactful storytelling and character work, elements that work across mediums. However, it’s also interesting to note that despite this past success and literary standing, there are many who may overlook the publishing successes of this favorite author selection. Getting a chance to shine the spotlight on a creative mind from genre fiction’s past by way of conversation with another burgeoning writing talent is one of the main reasons I wanted to start this column. What follows is an enlightening and educational chat, one I hope you all will enjoy.

Who is your favorite author and why? 

Ira Levin. His comfortable flow really spoke to me when I was trying to find my own voice. He connects with readers in a way that makes you feel like you are chatting with him over a drink on a casual Sunday afternoon. That ability to engage readers, to unsuspectingly get into their space and under their skin, has influenced my style considerably.

When were you first made aware of this author and when were you first drawn to their work?

Sometime in the late 1980s; and on screen rather than on the page. I watched The Stepford Wives, and it blew my mind. I found out the movie was based on a book, and I read it. I was struck by the prose, the tone, the confidence. It was such a smooth, comfortable read, I found myself sucked in, even though I already knew what happened in the story. That it was psychological horror in its purest form and that I could identify it as such and feel a pleasant recognition, like seeing an old friend after a long separation, felt really good—like, in my bones kind of good. Levin does all the components so well—engaging beginning, nicely paced middle, and a satisfying end. That pop culture had already adopted the term “Stepford Wife” in relation to his story, that college students that I knew were talking about feminism in ways that made my young self pay attention where nothing else had—it meant something to me. It spoke to me. So, I looked for more. I found Rosemary’s Baby next. I was hooked.

In terms of horror history, both cinematic and literary, it really does feel like Ira Levin walked so that Stephen King could fly. Though I might argue that Levin has a better adaptation track record than King. What is it in Levin’s work that you feel makes his stories work across mediums?

I think it’s because you never see Ira Levin coming.  He created worlds that looked so very much like your own—sentiments, conversations, predictions, environment—everything seemed like it was truly a slice of life, a moment in time.  It was like we were watching or reading a replay of what a live camera left on a city block picked up.  The horror feels organic and, because of that, it is so imperceptible in the beginning that people often miss its onset.  By the time they realize that this is a scary story or movie and not the contemporary drama it may have presented itself to be, they are engrossed in the story, sucked in because the storytelling is so compelling. By then, they are too afraid to look away.

Is there one particular piece of work from this author that you are especially fond of or that’s had a significant creative impact on you? What is that piece and what makes it so appealing or affecting for you?  

It might be Rosemary’s Baby—at least today. New York City in full color on the page. Being from New York, I could see the city in my mind as he set the tone, and could validate the descriptions. It was then that I realized that setting is a character. Atmosphere is important. And I knew I wanted to do that, too. Ira Levin talked about places that helped people form a vision of what a cityscape looked like, and it is one that perseveres, one that is confirmed every time the New York skyline makes an appearance on a tv show or in a movie. If you knew the general area, you might have found yourself looking for similar landmarks while out and about. You might have wondered if the building you were looking at had significance in the story, had been renamed for the story, might be the one…  This is the stuff, the important work that digs the story’s claws into the reader and never lets them go. All that, and I haven’t even mentioned what actually happens in those buildings… The building of dread, the way that you can see what’s coming but still hope it doesn’t, that way you can understand and maybe even relate to both main characters—     it’s skillful. The way that the husband Guy’s ambition doesn’t really seem off-putting on its face… how that makes you feel…it is truly unsettling. Ira Levin weaves this off-kilter, disconcerting web for us and we step right into it.

How often do you revisit that particular piece or the author’s work in general? What lessons have you learned at various times from the work? 

I don’t often revisit books—I will watch a movie a million times, but I rarely reread a book. That said, I would like to reread A Kiss Before Dying. I’d like to experience the twists and turns again.

Rather than revisiting a work directly, have there been moments in brainstorming and/or the actual act of writing, where you’ve found yourself referencing something remembered from a Levin piece? I’m thinking about your reference to the use of setting in Rosemary’s Baby. How have those lessons taken hold in your own writing?

I think the thing that resonates for me about Levin’s work is remembering that horror lurks under the surface, but it doesn’t have to burst out to be seen.  That is the beauty of psychological horror—the horror itself develops internally rather than appears outright.  Levin did that so very well; he created an unease that you felt long before you could label it.  That is something I strive to do in my work after seeing it done so well by such a craftsman.

Are there any pieces in the author’s oeuvre that have not worked as well for you? If yes, which ones and why do you think that connection was not as strong? 

Son of Rosemary was not my cup of tea. I didn’t think that the story needed to be revisited. The characters had closed just fine in the original and the story ending there was perfect. That’s not to say that the idea wasn’t ingenious and the writing not well-executed, because it was. I just didn’t need to revisit the characters again, the son now in his 30s. There is something to be said about the correlations, though, the connections, the beautiful weaving of religious horror and modern world sensibilities. I was able to recognize Ira Levin’s deft touch with the integration of those elements, and that visit with a voice I enjoy so much was truly appreciated.

Are there any specific takeaways—for good or ill—that you’ve taken from that novel when it comes to writing sequels or continuing the story beyond its original incarnation? Are there any of your works for which you’ve considered having a part two, a new adventure, etc.? Are there lessons from Levin that you feel would influence how you approached such a work?

I learned that it is okay for the story to simply end—that sometimes it is better to just let it go at the “what if?”  I have written a trilogy and a five-part series, but they were not revisited storylines.  In the same way that the episodes in a limited series build on each other, my books do the same.  Levin’s example, as well as the later installments of The Omen movies showed me that it was okay to stop and that if I wanted to continue to explore a character, it should be done with careful purpose.

What writing lessons have you taken, purposefully or accidentally, from your favorite author? 

Ira Levin taught me that it’s okay to display a little skepticism in my writing, a touch that brings with it the dubious smirk and snicker that we don’t always let people see, that adding that element in a heavy psychological horror is okay and is not misplaced. Ira Levin also validated me including a bit of myself in my work. It is invigorating to have a character who reacts to things in the same way that you do (as an author). That surprise, the incredulity, the sarcasm—it’s me on a plate in many cases. I can’t say that the wit he used in his prose was Levin on a plate, but that it was there at all showed me that it was okay to, every now and then, add a line that would make a reader snicker. Doing so is me on a plate, hence, Ira Levin gave me the green light to be me.

I love that. I think it’s so well said and it’s really a takeaway from favorite authors of writers that doesn’t always get talked about. There’s an intangible quality of permissiveness that we can find from certain creators, right? Can you talk a little more about the emotional connection you may have found with Levin’s work in terms of inspiration for your own writing journey?

Ira Levin did it the way I wanted to do it.  I found him after I had read horror fiction for quite some time. While other authors showed me that you could actually write this kind of stuff and sell it, Ira Levin showed me that I could write it the way I wanted to and sell it.  I don’t have to have blood on every page, three-headed dragons, and bulbous-eyed beasts if I don’t want to.  I can work with the shadows and the sounds at the very edge of our hearing; I can use peripheral vision, dreams, and fears, and people will get creeped out, will be unsettled, will, indeed, be frightened.  Ira Levin showed me it was okay to unlock that aspect of my creativity and lace it with a little sarcasm—and for that I am forever grateful.

Are there any works in your bibliography that you feel are closest to the work of your favorite—whether in terms of style, subject matter, length, etc.? Talk a little about those similarities.

I don’t think so; but at the same time, of course. We write the same subgenre—over time it has been labeled differently (a rose by any other name, right?), but they live in the same space. I think that Ira Levin touched on topics that were groundbreaking and reflective. I have done similar things in my work; the lack of autonomy in the main character of my vampire novel, The Promise Keeper could be discussed in a conversation that raised The Stepford Wives as a comp; the intrusion of privacy in my novel Mars, the Band Man, and Sara Sue harkens back to the dastardly details in Levin’s Sliver. His work freed my pen in a way, so I am sure homage is paid in atmosphere and tone throughout my body of work.

Where does your writing diverge from your favorite author’s? Are there any elements from your favorite author’s work that you would like to incorporate in your own? If yes, what are these? 

I think we are drastically different, but similar in that we write psychological horror and make no bones about it. There isn’t anything I’d like to incorporate because the freedom to write the way I want to—the way I talk, and about subject matter that is interesting to me—is something that I feel his work represented for me (the key to my lock), and I’ve been doing so ever since discovering it.

If a reader wanted to start reading your favorite author, what piece would you recommend they start with? 

Rosemary’s Baby. It is so immersive, so realistic—the epitome of apartment living in a big city. I think readers can lose themselves in this book. That may not be a good thing, but it can happen!

If you could ask your favorite author one question about their work, what would it be? 

Actually, I would not have a single question to ask Ira Levin because much like you never ask a magician how they do their trick, I believe authors should keep the mystery of how they create the world that engrossed us to themselves. Instead, I would simply say thank you.

What do you have coming out next on the writing and publishing front?

My nonfiction release, The Horror Aesthetic: Essays from the Dark Corners of the Genre will be released in October. 

The Horror Aesthetic: Essays from the Dark Corners of the Genre shares perspectives from the darkest corners of the horror genre, providing study and nuance to the mythos, antagonists, and storytelling we love. This is a book that celebrates the craft of writing horror, explores the oral traditions that gave life to the written words of the gothic and the tortured, and shines a light on what has been left in the obscurity of the dark. From the classroom to the far corners that only shadows reach, The Horror Aesthetic: Essays from the Dark Corners of the Genre examines the horror genre in rich context, contemplative zest, and dark humor.

It’s the horror research you never knew you needed until now.

This piece took me years to write, and I am really excited for the world to sese it.

As for short fiction, you’ll find me in upcoming issues of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, House of Gamut, and onSudden Fiction Podcast.

Thank you for taking the time to chat with me about your favorite author.

Thank you for having me!  I love talking about Ira Levin – I don’t think people bring him up enough.

Where can readers find you online?

You can find me at lmariewood.com