Tommy Marcum Interview

Q. Can you tell us a little about yourself and what inspired you to become a writer?

Ans. I was born in Alabama, where the nights hang thick and the woods whisper. Growing up, weird shadows and local legends weren’t just stories—they were invitations. I started writing because I couldn’t stop hearing those whispers: odd dreams, the rustle of leaves, questions that wouldn’t let me rest. Writing became my way of chasing them, shaping them, giving them voice. Over time, what was once a private ritual turned into stories I wanted other people to feel—strange, dark, alive.

Q. What genre(s) do you primarily write in, and what draws you to that particular genre?

Ans. I lean hard into supernatural horror, psychological suspense, and Southern Gothic, with occasional detours into speculative nonfiction. What pulls me in is the space between the normal and the uncanny—where everyday life breaks against something restless. Horror lets me explore fears that taste familiar; suspense puts me in the mind’s tight places; Southern Gothic gives me the heat, the decay, the ghosts lingering in the moss. And in nonfiction, I get to ground those fears with tools—DIY survival, writing-craft—so the reader isn’t just scared, but equipped.

Q. What is your favorite book, and what about it resonates with you the most?

Ans. My favorite is The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson. It’s spare, haunted, and elusive. She never hands you every answer, and I love that. The feeling that maybe the house is alive, that your own mind might betray you—that’s the kind of dread that sticks. It reminds me that darkness doesn’t need to scream; sometimes silence, suggestion, what’s just out of sight, hits hardest.

Q. Who is your favorite author, and how have they influenced your writing?

Ans. Shirley Jackson stands at the top for me. But I also pull from Flannery O’Connor—her bone, the moral tension in her South; and Peter Straub for the way he weaves psychological complexity with cosmic dread. From Jackson: subtlety and fear in suggestion. From O’Connor: place, identity, guilt. From Straub: scale, depth, how horror can spill into the eternal. Together, they shaped me. Their influence shows up in my atmosphere, in how I build toward dread, how I trust shadows more than light.

Q. How do you balance writing with other aspects of your life, such as work, family, or hobbies?

Ans. Balance isn’t static—it’s more like a tension. Some weeks, I write only in stolen moments: before sunrise, late after everyone else’s lights are out. Other weeks, I step away: I play guitar, I wander through woods, I tinker with prompt engineering or survival craft. Family stuff, daily life—those don’t go away. But I carve out time anyway, even if it’s fifteen minutes. Even small windows matter. And when life demands more, I treat writing as a pulse I return to, not something that has to be perfect every time

Q. How do you show appreciation and love to your followers and readers? Do you actively engage with them on social media or through other means?

Ans. I try to make it personal. I reply to messages, even if just a few lines—because I remember what it felt like to be a reader, craving a reply. I share more than just polished content: snippets from mid-drafts, behind-the-scenes of how I got stuck, and the odd research I stumbled over. Sometimes I run prompt challenges, giveaways, or share mood boards. On social media, I try not to be “author mask” always—just Tommy, showing up, talking about weird dreams, music, woods, fear. I think my readers feel that. That feels right.

Q. What do you enjoy most about being an author, and what keeps you motivated to continue writing?

Ans. What I love most is that moment when a scene comes alive that I didn’t expect—when I only saw shapes in the dark and suddenly, detail, texture, dread, surprise. That thrill of discovery: that’s addictive. And what keeps me going is knowing stories can do more than scare—they can heal, challenge, illuminate fears, ask what it means to survive. Also, there are always more whispers to chase. More woods to walk. More shadows to map. The work is never finished—and that’s the point.

Q. Have you ever faced writer's block, and if so, how do you overcome it?

Ans. Yes—often. Usually, it shows up when I’m trying too hard or when the fear of writing something bad chokes the flow. To break it, I might switch gears completely: write a fragment, a weird sensory description, or address something small (a smell, a texture). Sometimes I leave the desk and walk in the woods, or sit in a café and listen to people. Other times, I set a tiny timer—5 or 10 minutes—and force myself to write without judgment. The freedom often wakes something up. Also, reading: something strange or beautiful will usually spark ideas again.

Q. Can you share any interesting or funny anecdotes from your writing journey?

Ans. Once, I was writing a horror scene about something scratching behind a wall. My dog, asleep, suddenly started pawing the baseboard in the dead of night. I nearly jumped out of my skin, laughed, then went back to write the scene with a new detail: the way the boards creaked under paw. Another time, I mis-typed a line: instead of “blood-red sky,” I wrote “bread red sky.” It stuck with me—bread red. For days, I couldn’t stop picturing a sky that looked like loaves of wheat glowing at sunset. That mistake added texture to a scene: odd and visceral in a way I hadn’t planned.

Q. What advice would you give to aspiring authors who are just starting their writing journey?

Ans. Write what scares you. Write what you hide from others. Allow yourself the mess: first drafts are going to be ugly. That’s okay—it’s where truth hides. Read widely: horror, nonfiction, poetry, essays. Let everything feed you. Cultivate patience: sometimes the story comes slowly. Don’t compare your chapter one to someone else’s chapter ten. Finally, show up: even when no one’s reading, even when self-doubt snarls. That consistency builds voice, strength, and territory.

Q. Do you have any upcoming projects or works in progress that you'd like to share with your readers?

Ans. a Gothic horror set in a decaying Southern town where memory fractures between what was and what is. Also working on the next installment of Writer Vibe, exploring liminal spaces: dawn-fog woods, old houses, thresholds between dream and wake. On the nonfiction side, I’m drafting something that merges survival strategy with creative craft: how do you survive outside physically—but also survive as a creative person in a noisy world.

Q. Finally, what are your goals and aspirations as a writer? Where do you see yourself and your writing career in the future?

Ans. I want people, when they pick up something with my name on it, to feel a particular weight: uncanny, thoughtful, relentless in tone. To expand into audio storytelling, maybe even adaptation of some stories into film or graphic media. To mentor new voices, curate collections of work where horror and fiction spark each other. Ten years from now, I see a body of work I’m proud of—novels that haunt, nonfiction that matters, readers who return not just for fear but for what’s beneath the fear.