Interview with Lisa Folden
Tell us about your background. Who are you, and where are you from?
I am from Arlington, Minnesota, and now a resident of Mt. Vernon, OH. I am not just an author. I’m also a single mom, a student with a criminology/business degree, and an actor/model. In my 29 years on this planet, I have done a wide range of things; nothing has kept me down, not illnesses or the severe accident I had in 2008. I grew up in Minnesota and learned about life the hard way. Once you read this book, you will all agree that as an author, I had found a way to make words come alive, and this is a passion that will continually be pursued.
When this book was written, I was a student at Rasmussen College, where I pursued a degree as a paralegal. This was my latest goal, inspired by the desire to help lawyers seek justice for abused and downtrodden children.
What themes does your book explore, and what do you hope the readers will take away from this interview?
The Tree House is a suspense thriller, based loosely on facts from an Ohio killer. My goal for writing this was to inform people that even the average looking person can have a dark side deep within. Crimes like this one I had written about are happening more and more, with maybe the help from this book on the signs given it will prevent another massive crime.
What prompted you to be an author, and were you influenced by a particular person, artist, or genre?
When I was in Criminal Justice school, I had come across some unusual support from the professor who later inspired me to write this amazing novel. After careful research of a convicted killer, I decided to tell this story that highlights the childhood and moments that led to his victims’ gruesome death. I chose creatively to express how grueling and torturous one man could create such havoc onto a town in an undeserving way.
My accounts protect the town and individuals involved but tell in detail what can happen when we choose to overlook the evils lurking within others. In the first phase of this story, I direct the reader’s perspective toward fear that will grip your senses and cause the hair to stand up on your neck, anticipating what will happen next.
If you could compare your book to any other existing works, which ones would they be, and why?
To be honest, I think that I have my own unique writing style, although I have been told it was on Steven King’s lines.
Tell us about your latest work and what inspired you.
The latest novel I am currently working on is part 2 of The Tree House.
Excerpt from The Tree House
“Later that evening, after relaxing out on the deck, John became hungry and noticed it was dinner time. He called out to Patty for she and Matthew to come up so they could get ready to eat. Patty yelled to Matthew, telling him it was dinner time. But Matthew acted like he didn’t hear her. After 10 minutes of calling for him, Matthew finally came out of the water, grabbed his stuff, and headed up the beach to the room.
By the time she and Matt made it into the room, John was furious and did not speak to either of them. So, she and Matt got out of their wet swimwear, took a shower, and got dressed as fast as they could. However, John had already left for the restaurant in the hotel where he planned on having dinner. He didn’t bother to wait for her and Matthew.
Patty tried to hurry up and catch up with him, but Matthew dragged his feet and would not walk faster. He had picked up on the vibe between his parents and seemed somewhat withdrawn and disgusted at how they acted. This was the last thing he needed was to see his parents at odds with each other, and now they were not even speaking, so why should he? He thought to himself. When Patty and Matt made it to the restaurant, John was already seated and looking over his menu.
The waitress approached the table and asked what she and the young man wanted to drink. John was sipping on a draft beer he’d ordered when he sat down before they joined him at the table. Patty said, “Black coffee, please.” and Matthew ordered a tomato juice, which was, for some odd reason, had become his favorite.
As of late, he had grown to love to eat and drink anything reddish in color. He had even started asking his mother to cook his meats, rare, just so he could see the blood oozing out of it. John ordered the steak dinner well done with a baked potato and vegetables, Patty ordered a Caesar Salad, grilled chicken, steamed rice with broccoli, and Matthew got the steak, but instead of a baked potato, he asked for fries, and he wanted his steak, rare.
The waitress gave him a peculiar look at his request. She managed a smile and said, “Well, little man, are you sure you want that rare?” It was rare that a child ordered his meat with blood showing, she thought. Then Matthew looked up at her from the menu with his eyes fixated on her, locking her in a trance that sent chills up her spine. His eyes were black as coal, and his stare was as cold as the ice-capped mountains, she thought. He said, “That’s what I want, and I know what “rare” is Mam!” “Matthew!” Patty said sternly. “That was neither nice nor appropriate. Now you apologize to the nice lady for your behavior. She just wanted to make sure you knew what you were ordering before she turned the order in to the cook.” John just sat there sipping his beer and looking out the glass window towards the ocean, watching the couples outside at the tables on the restaurant’s patio. He had learned to phase his family out, and this time was no different. The waitress wrote down the order, stuck her pad and pen back into her apron and waited for a response that never came. So she turned and quickly walked away and all too anxious to do so.
“What a weird little boy.” She told one of the other waitresses looking back at the table and noticing Matthew still staring at her as if his looks could slice her clean through. During dinner, no one talked. There was dead silence at the table. After dinner, John went to pay for their meals, but instead of waiting on his wife and son, he walked right back to the room ahead of them. At this point, he didn’t want to be around either of them and was already wishing that it was the last day of the trip and they still had a few days to go. Patty and Matthew walked slowly to the room, recognizing his behavior and not making it worse. As she and her son walked down the long corridor to the room, Mathew looked up at his mother and asked,
“What’s wrong with dad, he don’t want to be around us?” Patty didn’t know what to say to him. She just gave him a slight smile and brushed his dark hair out of his face, and said, “Oh no, honey. Dad is just tired and not feeling well.” She remembered the cold and harsh look that Matthew gave his dad as they walked into the hotel room. It was as if his father had struck him in the face, and that night, everyone went to bed early. Patty went to bed secretly desiring that their last day would be a day of family fun. She had hoped that John would cheer up and join them in the activities tomorrow.
But her son was another story. He stood at his window and glared down at the people on the beach who were out late. His thoughts were as dark as his eyes and hair; for the first time in his life, he hated his dad and wanted him dead for the way he was treating him and his mom. Patty saw the light still on and yelled in to him to turn off his light and get to bed, that they had a long day ahead of them and would be getting up early. Matthew did what his mom told him, but reluctantly. “Yes, maybe tomorrow will be different.” He thought and then went off to sleep.”
Lisa’s website – Facebook