As I sit here typing this post, I have the creepy feeling there’s a spider in my hair.  There’s the echo of a tickle at the roots of my hair, and a kind of slithering sensation across my scalp.  Of course I know there isn’t LIKELY a spider in my hair…but I have been out in the woods, and earlier needed to stop to pull a web off my glasses.

You know, maybe I should check on that, and get back to you?

*Obsessively checks hair*

Okay, glad that’s settled.  Because spiders as accessories just aren’t my thing.

As I worked outside earlier and tromped through said spider webs, I thought about why it is that a sparkling new spider web stretched across two beams in our carport, with morning dew sparkling on each perfectly spun thread and a glory of fall color behind it, can fill me with wonder, while this–

–fills me with horror.   Some of it is a size thing–to my mind, spiders just aren’t supposed to get that big.  And, some of it is context.  The spider on the web in the early morning is somehow less in my face than this fellow, peering in the window.  But I think there’s more than that.  Somewhere in our brains we categorize things as wonderful (as in, full of wonder) or terrifying, and the two seem to be more closely related than the different emotions would apply.

Let’s look at the similarities:

• Both fall outside the realm of what we’d consider normal.
• Both prompt a strong emotion that’s instantaneous and overpowering.
• Often the object can be the same thing–as in the case of spiders, tornadoes, and clowns.
•  Both usually carry an element of surprise

Can you think of any others?  Because I suspect we could add to this.  So, what makes the difference?  Once you set aside the gore factor, what is it that flips a reader or whoever from wonder to horror, or the other way?  I think the answer is tied up in my spider reaction, above.

First to impact us, I think, is the safety factor.  If something is too big, too in our face, or simply too much to take in, it doesn’t feel safe.  One of my earlier memories is of finally being allowed to see our cat’s new kittens.  My older siblings had already been allowed to take peeks at the mother and kits, but I was considered too young and had to wait til they were old enough for mom to bring them out.  When she finally did, they were quite simply the cutest things I’d ever seen in my entire life.  But as I sat on the grass with my legs spread wide to create a safety zone for the kittens, one of them raised its baby head and started trotting toward me.  Now the cuteness was adorably coming closer–but doing so faster than I quite knew what to do with it.  I remember feeling a moment of confusion and concern, then a dawning alarm, and finally terror.  But, I didn’t jump up and run–even in my fear I knew I couldn’t risk stepping on the kittens–so I scooted backwards on my bum.

It must have been quite the sight–this tiny kitten, plodding uncertainly but at a steady clip toward the human girl, and the girl child pushing herself backwards with her hands, scooting away no faster than the kitten could trot!

Why exactly I was afraid, I still don’t know.  Most likely I was concerned about the kitten getting hurt, bit I’m sure there was also a strong need to be in control of the situation, or at least able to distance myself if the circumstances started to overwhelm.  So, I think at the root of wonder is an appreciation for the new and strange while keeping a safe distance, or a sheltered feeling of protection from harm.

Next to sway our thinking is our sense of whether this thing before us is right with its world, or wrong.  Is it broken?  Is it at odds with the world around it, and destructive?  Or does it fit seamlessly in its realm of influence and belong as one piece of a whole?  Of course, some of that is going to be perspective.  I don’t like big spiders, and the one in the pic above qualifies in my mind as ‘too big’.  But, to someone used to really big spiders that one would seem normal, and perfectly alright.  In the same way, a really big thunderstorm is more likely to frighten someone who isn’t used to big storms and thrill someone who knows and loves them.  Even tornadoes are a thrilling sight, if you’re a storm chaser!

Of course, perspective tends to loop back into safety, because some familiarity lessens the perceived danger–you’ve survived this experience before.  Maybe that’s why, the next time our cat had kittens, I not only held my ground but thrilled when a kitten ran toward me!

What do you think?  Are horror and wonder connected?  And how do you help your reader feel one, versus the other?