Bethany Joy Lenz has always been a storyteller, but these days, the stories are pouring out of her in book form as much as on screen. The actress, who captured hearts for nine seasons as Haley James Scott on One Tree Hill, is now the author of a second book, The Betrayal of Cora Wexford. The novel, out now, is a spooky and atmospheric tale set in 1880s London about a woman who paints the dead for a living. It is a premise that could only come from a writer with a deep fascination for the invisible threads between the living and the departed. Lenz’s previous book, the 2024 memoir Dinner for Vampires, was an entirely different kind of revelation. In it, she chronicled her years inside a cult, the slow erosion of identity, the psychology of control, and the painful, unglamorous process of reclaiming her own life. The memoir has clearly become a lifeline for many readers. Lenz, who is now forty-five, says she feels grateful for the chance to tell her own story, but she remains continually surprised by how many people send her messages every day, sharing their own similar experiences of manipulation, loneliness, and healing. She hopes the book snowballs and continues to help people recover; she calls that the best outcome she could imagine. It is a generous wish, and it reveals the core of who she is as a creative person. She does not simply want to be heard—she wants her words to function as companionship, comfort, and maybe even a light in someone’s dark hallway. In The Betrayal of Cora Wexford, she turns that same compassionate eye toward a fictional woman, using a Victorian ghost story to investigate grief, secrets, and the human need to be remembered. It is a long way from the basketball courts of Tree Hill, but it feels exactly like where Lenz is meant to be.
Lenz’s personality is a collection of endearing contradictions, and her lighter confessions make her all the more relatable. She says her favorite season is autumn, unless she is on vacation—then she wants summer, with its long days and uncomplicated warmth. She has a soft spot for animals, and the memory of acquiring her childhood dog is still vivid: her parents drove her to a house, and the prettiest cocker spaniel jumped into her lap. They took him home, and he became her best friend for thirteen years. That kind of bond leaves a mark, and it explains why she still seems to carry that sweetness with her. When she sits down to watch television, she has been bingeing The Hardacres on Britbox, a series about a tough fishery family that becomes a true “fish out of water” after inheriting a fortune. She says she loves the characters and the story, and that she fell completely in love with all of them. As for critical responses to her own work, Lenz tends not to read reviews unless someone on her team or a family member sends her something particularly nice. It is a sensible boundary in an industry where public opinion can easily become overwhelming. She describes herself as a night owl who gets her best ideas right before bed, resolves to execute them tomorrow, and then is foiled by the difficulty of waking up in the morning. There is something deeply human about that admission, and it reveals a person who is both imaginative and candid about her own limitations. She also takes time to lift up Peace Over Violence, a nonprofit doing what she calls wonderful, trackable work in legal advocacy, counseling, intervention and prevention of domestic violence. That she uses her platform to direct attention to practical resources is a reminder that Lenz is not just an artist—she is someone who wants to make life better for other people, one message, one project, one act of advocacy at a time.
Her creative references are wonderfully offbeat and full of character. She can quote Labyrinth almost from beginning to end, which suggests an appreciation for the strange, dreamlike fantasy that many people carry with them from childhood. On the set of One Tree Hill, the base camp PA affectionately called her “Joypiter,” a nickname that captured how she could be both luminous and a little lost in thought. She explains that her neurodivergence is a superpower, although she can be really spacey. It is a refreshingly honest and affirmative way to describe her mind: the same quality that makes her prone to distraction also allows her to notice details, patterns, and emotional truths that others might miss. And Lenz remains deeply affected by the continued response to Dinner for Vampires. People send her messages every day to tell her about their own similar experiences; she hopes the book continues to help people heal. She seems genuinely astonished that her pain has become a source of comfort for so many people. Professionally, she found a great challenge in playing a struggling woman with a heavy past in So Cold the River, and she wants more villain roles. There is a kind of freedom in playing someone complicated, someone who does not need to be liked. When it comes to stunt work, Lenz is never nervous, but intense emotional overtures of sorrow leave her feeling exposed. She admits she is not personally comfortable with wild outbursts of weeping in front of anyone, and she jokes that she needs to call her therapist after saying so. The honesty is captivating. She also describes herself as an excellent problem solver, “MacGyver level,” though she has never actually seen MacGyver—she has simply been told. That combination of confidence and self-deprecating humor is exactly why so many people feel connected to her.
Lenz’s childhood and personal tastes are full of warm, vivid details. She grew up idolizing Jodie Foster, an actress whose poise, intelligence, and ability to command the screen left a deep imprint. Her first car was a 1984 Ford Bronco II Eddie Bauer edition, forest green with tan trim—an image that feels like a snapshot from a coming-of-age film. The song “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” by The Police is a trip back to her best memories because it came on in her delivery room; now she cannot hear it without thinking of the moment her child entered the world. It is those small, sensory anchors that make a person human, and Lenz shares them generously. If you are ever curious about her fast-food order, it is a Cava harissa chicken bowl with crazy feta, hummus and garlic sauce for the chips. She could eat it four times a week, and she admits that sometimes she does. She also holds sharp opinions about travel: London and Paros, Greece, are her favorite places to visit. London is vibrant, full of friends and activity, while Paros is quieter, offering peace and beauty. The contrast between the two destinations says a lot about her temperament—she needs both stimulation and sanctuary, crowds and silence. Then there is the one detail that might surprise everyone: she collects dirt from the graves of saints and inspirational figures. It sounds like a line from one of her own novels. But it also makes sense for someone with a deeply spiritual imagination. To her, a handful of earth from a holy place is a tangible reminder that greatness is possible, and that these people were once flesh and blood, struggling and hoping and believing just like the rest of us.
Looking forward, Lenz remains ambitious in all the right ways. She would love to perform in the West End and on Broadway, and her vocal talent should not be underestimated. Most people know that she sings, but few realize she trained for eight years with the director of the Brooklyn College of Opera. That is a serious, rigorous foundation that places her well above the average actor-singer. She would also love to be part of something created by Terrence Malick, whose films are famous for their lyrical, philosophical, almost prayerful quality. It is a natural ambition for someone who writes about the dead and collects grave dirt. Perhaps the most poignant thing she shares is her most valuable life lesson: appreciate every opportunity to learn the lessons. It is the kind of wisdom that can only come from surviving something difficult and deciding to grow from it. She also hopes her legacy is kindness. She is honest enough to say that she still feels far from this as her dominant characteristic, but she hopes to grow into it daily. In an industry often driven by ego, that self-awareness is disarming. Lenz also has a sense of professional curiosity; she looks back on her quick stints on Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Colony with something like regret, wishing those roles had been longer because she would have learned so many cool things. Even after twenty years in the industry, she still approaches acting like an eager student. In school, her best subject was English, hands down. It all seems inevitable in retrospect: the girl who loved language grew into a woman who writes novels, memoirs, and songs, telling stories across every medium she can reach.
At home, Lenz shares a delightfully ordinary ritual with her daughter: they are on a Friends kick, working their way through the beloved sitcom together. But whenever she turns on the television, it is set to Neil deGrasse Tyson’s Star Talk channel, and she confesses she gets sucked into every conversation, often forgetting what she originally intended to watch. It is a small, charming detail, but it captures something essential about her. She is a person who can move between the comfort of a familiar sitcom and the grandeur of astrophysics, between the small and the infinite, between the world of wizards and the world of stars. In all of her answers, from the serious to the silly, a clear portrait emerges. Bethany Joy Lenz carries her scars and her joys with equal openness. She is a survivor, a mother, a daughter, a friend, a dog lover, a night owl, an opera-trained singer, a collector of grave dirt, and a woman who wants to leave a little more kindness in the world than she found. The Betrayal of Cora Wexford is another expression of that intention. Through its eerie Victorian premise, she explores timeless questions about guilt, grief, memory, and betrayal. She asks what we owe the people we have loved and lost, and how we can ever make peace with the damage we have done or endured. For Lenz, storytelling is not a performance; it is a lifeline. She says the best outcome she could hope for is that her work helps people heal. That is the kind of goal that cannot be measured by bestseller lists, but it can be felt in the messages that arrive in her inbox every day. And with Cora Wexford now out in the world, she has given readers a new way to sit with those difficult emotions—cloaked in the darkness of a ghost story, but ultimately glowing with hope.
