When Bad Timing Strikes: Revolutionary Movies and British Allies – A Cinematic Tragedy
LeeAnna kicks things off with a bizarre tale of an ill-timed American Revolution movie that backfired harder than a century-old musket. Released in 1917—right when Britain was our ally in WWI—it depicted the British as villainous baby-bayoneting baddies. Enter director Robert Goldstein, who found himself charged under the Espionage Act. As Tim and LeeAnna note, this is what happens when you combine terrible timing, war propaganda, and a truly questionable script. Oh, and thankfully, the film is lost to time (phew?).
Authenticity in Writing War: Not Your Average Hero’s Journey
Tim steers us toward a grim, yet compelling topic: writing authentically about the horrors of war. It's not just a gruesome backdrop; it's a way to push characters—and readers—into grappling with real human darkness. Tim muses about the "sense of awe" that should be felt when writing these situations, suggesting a brush with the supernatural.
LeeAnna delivers a hot take from last night’s lecture: all heroes, real or fictional, follow a pattern. It’s basically a cosmic template—leave home, stumble through challenges, meet a sage, return home with treasure (and bonus PTSD). Tim quickly pivots to gripe about those sanitized battle scenes in books and movies that lack the chaotic, gut-wrenching horror of real war. Remember, kids: if your characters don’t break under the pressure, they aren’t human. Period.
Steerage Panic and a Titanic Disagreement between Tim & LeeAnna – Authentic Terror vs. Cardboard Screams
Tim and LeeAnna debate Titanic’s depiction of panic, drowning, and steerage-class misery. Tim thinks it was too tidy, the doomed passengers felt like “cardboard cutouts.” LeeAnna, however, argues that steerage was sufficiently hellish and insists the steerage scenes were plenty terrifying. With a nod to socioeconomic class, she confesses she’d be down there, doomed to drown, while Tim watches while sipping champagne in first class. It’s a lighthearted capper to a discussion about truly dark subject matter. Plus, it turns out that even fictional shipwrecks can’t escape the reality check of panic done right—or wrong.
The Supernatural Side of War: Disappearing Battalions, Angelic Archers, and Myths that Linger
War stories sometimes skirt the line between historical record and supernatural fever dream. Take Tim’s first tale of the Norfolk Regiment’s “disappearance” during Gallipoli. A battalion walks into a mist—poof, gone. Truth became myth, myth became a movie. We’ll have to watch All the King’s Men for answers, since Tim’s zipped lips won’t tell us if it’s friendly fire or divine fog that did the deed.
The conversation then turns to the “Angel of Mons.” Picture this: a spectral squad of archers protecting the Brits at Mons, shooting arrows so supernatural, even German soldiers allegedly bore their marks. LeeAnna sets the record straight: angels are warrior-seraphim, not harp-strumming cherubs. The supernatural in wartime tales blurs reality and myth, but one thing’s clear—if your battlefield heroics involve ghostly archers, you're writing historical horror, not bedtime stories.
Writing War Without the Rose-Colored Lens – Supernatural? Or Just Super Real?
Tim dives into what it takes to write convincingly about war without sanitizing it. He rails against those neat, bloodless battles depicted in fiction and film, reminding us that war isn’t an “antiseptic battle scene” with polite casualties. No, it’s raw, chaotic, and more terrifying than your inbox on a Monday morning. And if that horror occasionally edges into the supernatural? Well, that’s just war reaching beyond our normal comprehension—a reality writers can’t afford to gloss over.
From Creative Writing to Brutal Truths: When Fiction Mirrors Life
Tim wraps things up by stressing that good fiction reflects messy truths, not sanitized fairy tales. If your characters and their experiences don’t echo the complexity of real life, readers will feel it. Fiction should be a mirror to our world’s darkest and lightest moments. In other words, don’t go all “Titanic cardboard cutouts” on us. Give readers something to chew on (preferably not literal iceberg shards).
The Snark
Official podcast name: "Alchemy... from Effigy Press" (don't forget the ellipsis, folks)
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