From psychologist to writing psychological suspense: Luana Lewis

From psychologist to writing psychological suspense: Luana Lewis

I have worked as a clinical psychologist for more than 20 years. I first trained in South Africa, where I specialized in treating survivors of violence. Later I moved to the UK and worked in the National Health Service, as well as in private practice and as an expert witness in criminal and family cases. At the moment, my time is divided between practising as a psychologist and writing fiction.

Becoming a writer was an ambition I kept secret, even from myself, until I turned 40 and had already had a fairly long career as a clinical psychologist. Suddenly, my children were a little older and more independent, I was less exhausted and had some spare time. 

At the time I was doing plenty of writing — of expert witness reports which ran to as many as 200 pages, so not far off a novel’s length. I had to get every fact correct and a court could ask me to justify every line. I started to dream about a world where I could just make things up. It seemed like it would be more fun, and maybe easier. 

I enrolled in a creative writing class through a local community centre. I was hooked, though my initial efforts were terrible. I went on to do several other courses, at places such as City Lit and Arvon, and increasingly many great opportunities to learn opened up online.

Little did I know that writing fiction would turn out, for me, to be far more difficult than reporting on what happens in real life. In life, anything can and does happen. Sometimes we don’t understand why people do the things they do. Random coincidences occur, people act out of character. But in fiction, everything a character does has to make sense to the reader. The characters’ motivation is key.

Ten years on, while, on the surface, my jobs as fiction writer and psychologist involve different activities, at a deeper level there are elements which are similar. 

For both roles, you need to be fascinated by people and what makes them behave as they do. In both, I play detective and solve mysteries. Inside a psychologist’s consulting room, deep problems, traumas and sometimes secrets are revealed. 

There is so much overlap in the questions psychologists and writers ask: When did the problems start and why? Why do people act the way they do? Is it possible to change our behaviour or our character?  How did this person become an addict, an abuser, a repeated victim, or maybe a killer? Is there a chance for healing or redemption? The same questions that guide me through a therapy session also lead me through the writing of a novel.

With my patients I try to work out what is going on behind the symptoms or the problems they present. What feelings lie beneath a depression? What emotions drive anxious thoughts? The answers are seldom obvious. They are often hidden under the surface of conscious awareness and thought. Psychological techniques give clinicians different ways to access these processes. In the same way, when we read crime fiction, there is an assumption that all is not what it seems, and that by the end, we will have the answers which explain puzzling questions.

The question in the Perfect Patient is: Why would a 17-year-old girl, with no history of violence, murder a man she’s just met? Is it really possible she would have no memory of committing violence?  And how can a psychologist find out if amnesia is fake or genuine?

In my psychological reports, I searched for answers. For example, I had to decide if it was safe to leave a child in the care of their own parents. Or, whether someone who committed violence acted with intent or an understanding of right and wrong. In my novel, the psychologist character is also a seeker, trying to tell the difference between truth and lies, memory and imagination.

The psychological thriller is part of the broader crime genre, but it tends to involve fewer external threats, such as car chases or gun battles, and instead focuses on mysteries and dangers lurking in the human psyche and as well as in intimate relationships. In reality, those closest to us are sometimes the ones who do the most harm. Statistics show, that women are most at risk from violence and murder committed by intimate partners. 

Many of the problems psychologists work with can be traced back to dysfunctional relationship patterns established in early life, and psychological suspense novels often pose this question: can we really ever know what we ourselves, or those closest to us, are capable of when under extreme stress? Is there a part of our inner life, and aspects of our shadow selves that remain hidden even from those closest to us? 

Ten years on from when I started, I continue to learn the craft and discipline of writing commercial fiction. I have found many generous teachers, colleagues and editors. One last thing: these are both careers when age is not a barrier, but an advantage. That is really wonderful. I sometimes regret I didn’t start writing much earlier, but then perhaps I would have had nothing to write about.

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Tags: featured, women writers

Category: On Writing