Of Lions, Dark Alleys, and Memory Hiccups: Writers, Brace Yourselves for the Inaccuracies
Tim Tries to Define Memory and Identity, LeeAnna's Kangaroo Hat Steals the Show, and Seth Turns Up a Day Late
Back in the ‘Cave of Writerly Wisdom’ it’s The Alchemy Podcast, where the gang muse about life, love, creativity, and apparently kangaroo hats. Tim, our fearless host, launches into the topic—memory and self-identity. But let’s be honest, LeeAnna’s waterproof Australian hat was the real star of the show.
Before diving into the deep, existential abyss of memory, Seth takes us on a detour through his week. He had a classic "day late, dollar short" scenario, arriving at a show a day too late. Who’s to blame? Well, in an ultimate blame-passing ballet, Tim graciously takes the fall. Seems like both guys had a momentary lapse in memory—appropriate, given the podcast’s theme. Maybe they need to borrow LeeAnna’s hat to shield themselves from the downpour of forgotten dates.
Dry Drunks and “White-Knuckling” Through Life – Is There No Cure for the Alcoholic Writer?
Tim, ever the overachiever, introduces us to a rather fascinating (and frankly, a little tragic) concept: the “dry drunk.” These unfortunate souls are those who’ve sworn off booze but haven’t exactly resolved their underlying psychological issues. They're the folks "white-knuckling through life," hanging on to sobriety by sheer will, yet still losing the war against their own personalities.
Seth jumps in, stating that Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) teaches that once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. Therapy might help you sort through your issues, but according to AA, you’re never fully “cured.” This ignites Tim’s writerly imagination, urging us all to think in shades of gray—don’t just write alcoholics as winning or losing against their addiction. Add layers. Get creative. Tim’s take: your character might win the fight against booze, but their real battle is against who they are deep down.
Memory, Schmemory: How to Misremember Your Entire Childhood
Finally, the gang start talking memory. Apparently, our brains have a way of downloading memories, toying with them, and re-uploading the messed-up version. According to Seth, this explains why memories don’t just degrade over time—they get mangled beyond recognition. It’s like running a photo through a glitchy printer over and over until the original is barely visible.
Seth admits that this seriously bugs him—he’s kind of obsessed with his own unreliable memories. I mean, who isn’t? Then, Tim drops some textbook knowledge on “episodic memories” (mental time travel) and “semantic memories” (your brain being extra, and preparing you for life’s surprises based on past episodes). “Semantic memory developed in our early ancestors—a narrow escape from a predator could help us know what to do next time.” Handy survival tool, right?
The real kicker? This is how stereotypes begin, folks. Seth spots the connection, highlighting that a lion lurking in a dark alley—or some shady character—automatically gets lumped into the “bad news” category, thanks to your brain’s pattern recognition tendencies.
That woman walking down the street at night who tenses up when a certain kind of guy crosses her path? That’s her brain applying past experiences to the current situation. Or as Seth might say, it’s a “beneficial semantic memory.” Unless, of course, it’s misfiring – in which case, say hello to the foundation of every awkward social stereotype ever.
Pie-Scented PTSD and a School Play Trauma
What’s an episode about memory without some good ol’ nostalgia? LeeAnna takes us back to her grandmother’s kitchen, where everything smelled of pumpkin pie and the world was huge—until adult reality shrank the place into a postage stamp. Seth joins in, recalling how the smell of Italian sauce magics him back to his great-grandmother’s house. Just when things seem sweet and wholesome, Tim interjects with... the smell of horse manure. Yep, that's his trigger memory.
But wait—LeeAnna, never one to be outdone, brings in a man from an elevator who recognized his late wife's scent on her. It's like the beginning of a rom-com, minus the meet-cute. Seth, meanwhile, admits he has a superpower: identifying fragrances. He used to run a clothing store, and now can sniff out a perfume like it’s no one’s business. He’s basically the Sherlock Holmes of scent memories, though not all perfumes bring back fond moments.
But PTSD also gets its due, with Seth sharing a rather poignant moment from his youth—his dad, an absentee figure, missing a school play. That memory, crystal clear at the time, fed into the pattern of disappointment Seth felt in their relationship. Cue some pop-psych therapy.
For Writers: Don’t Bother With Backstories, Focus on Memory (Even the Wrong Ones)
Writers, grab your notebooks. Tim’s dropping some serious wisdom. He suggests ditching the tired old “born on this day in this place” backstory for your characters and instead crafting characters around impactful memories. “Memories that are correctly remembered and memories that are incorrectly remembered,” Tim says. Because let’s face it, no one remembers things perfectly, and your characters shouldn’t either.
Seth adds his two cents: “If you go in with the understanding that memory can be misinterpreted or misremembered, your characters will resonate more with your audience—even if the audience doesn’t know why.” Basically, lean into that whole unreliable narrator thing. Make your characters’ memories—and by extension, their personalities—just as complicated as the average human. Because, as Tim wisely notes, “Human nature is complicated. People don’t understand themselves, much less the world around them.”
After all, isn’t that how real people work? We’re all a mess of memories, half of which are wrong, yet they shape us anyway.
In classic Alchemy fashion, Tim reminds us that life—and people—are complicated. Characters don’t need to understand themselves, and neither do we. Just keep muddling through, embrace the chaos, and definitely don’t expect your memory to be your friend. If you ever need a refresher, just download a new version from the hippocampus—glitches and all.
Homer Simpson’s Identity Crisis: Wet Clothes, Dry Martini, and a Lampshade for a Hat
Here’s where things get existential. Tim starts unraveling the terrifying reality that our sense of self, our whole identity, is built on the shaky foundation of fallible memories. “Our sense of self sits upon shifting sand,” he warns. Great. As if life wasn’t already complicated enough, now we have to question everything we “think” we remember about it.
Enter Homer Simpson as the perfect cautionary tale. Tim pulls up an episode where Homer remembers himself as a sophisticated, witty host at a party – “So I said, ‘I must get out of these wet clothes and into a dry martini,’” – only for Marge to remind him that in reality, he was a sloppy, drunken bore with a lampshade on his head. Classic Homer. And classic example of memory distortion.
Seth, always ready with a zinger, asks, “Is this a statement on memory, or a statement on alcohol?” Tim goes with memory, but LeeAnna, ever the pragmatist, suggests it’s probably “dissociative amnesia,” also known as what happens after three glasses of champagne.
But Seth takes it further, pointing out that Homer’s distorted memory is more about reinforcing his already skewed self-identity. And it’s not just a Homer problem. “I do tend to think of myself in more negative terms,” Seth admits. “That’s another falsity. Whether you think everyone loves you or hates you, you’re still being self-centered.”
The takeaway for writers? Your characters’ memories, like Homer’s (and Seth’s), will skew toward their sense of identity, whether positive or negative. Make sure they’re complex, layered, and, most importantly, human.
Writing Tip: If All Your Characters Remember Everything Right, You’re Doing It Wrong
Seth wraps it up with some final advice for writers: “Characters are human beings. You want them to have flaws, to be living, breathing people. But they also need to change, face consequences, or experience some kind of justice.” This isn’t just about avoiding cardboard cutouts; it’s about making your characters “real”.
Tim jumps in with a great point: characters should have different perspectives on shared events. “The memory of a shared event can diverge between characters as their memories evolve and get corrupted.” The same thing happens in real life all the time – think of how you and your sibling probably remember the same childhood events very, very differently.
Seth agrees, adding that in fiction, characters will cling more to their identity than to the actual events. The reader might be able to flip back a few pages to fact-check, but your characters can’t. They’ll always interpret events through the filter of their own personalities and biases. If everyone in your novel remembers everything the same way, you’re doing it wrong.
Tim’s last point? If you’re writing stereotypical, cartoonish characters, you’ll likely lose steam halfway through. Writing is hard work, but if your characters are nuanced and layered, the process becomes more exciting—and you’re more likely to finish that novel. Seth agrees, saying that fiction becomes “alive” when it reflects universal truths about the human condition. At that point, your work transcends fiction and becomes a mirror of the world we all live in.
And that, folks, is when you know you’ve written something that’s more than just words on a page.
The Snark
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