What Are You Afraid Of?

I'm currently researching a new book about a man who launched his career (at the age of 12) by scaring people.  He's gone on to also delight and amaze audiences on a grand scale, but my research has gotten me thinking about scary stuff.

I had a conversation recently with my friend, who also happens to be an artist and my acupuncturist, about fears. As a writer, I often consider what things in my stories children might consider frightening, so I'm interested in what other people are afraid of. Sometimes feeling just a bit scared is fun. Kids love Mercer Mayer's monster in the closet and whatever lurks in the dark, dark wood. The fascination with vampires, zombies, and other denizens of the night is appealing to ever younger audiences. I was chided once by a seven-year-old that zombie movies aren't scary, that "it's all just special effects, you know." And that thrilling, slightly scared feeling is one of the things that has made the subject of my new project so successful. But what about the times when the fear is more than a "bit," or when we feel really threatened by that scary thing? That's when our skin crawls, our hearts race, and we scream. Suddenly, it's not fun any more. Where's that tipping point?

There seems to be a general (and usually reasonable) list of common fears. Spiders are up there near the top, certainly for me, since I was bitten on the ankle by a black widow the night before my daughter was born. Forty years later, I still feel the only effective tool for defending myself from a black widow is a really
l-o-o-o-n-g broom handle! My friend said big, scary dogs top her list. Umm. . . not so for me, but then, I've never been attacked by one. She has.

One of my writer friends has a rather unique fear--of sock monkeys. She can't even really explain where it came from. Sock monkeys look pretty innocuous to me. Granted, that grin is a bit much, but they don't strike me as fear-worthy. But that's the thing about fears. They are very personal and often without logic. And while I don't consider myself a mean person, some peculiar perversity in my character tempts me to buy every one I see, just to give to that writer friend. Those Christmas ornaments, pillows, tee shirts, book marks all strike me as so cute.

 Another friend refused to visit the Redwoods when she was in northern California, convinced that one of those giant trees was just waiting for her to arrive so it could fall on her. Most of them have been standing for centuries, so what are the odds? But logic doesn't apply here, either. She's equally fearful of cities like New York because she's sure a skyscraper will crush her. When's the last time you read about something like that happening? To her, it doesn't matter. And that's what matters.

Driving through town the other day, I was startled by one of those wacky, inflatable, arm-flailing tube men at a used car dealership. It occurred to me at that moment that I was afraid of them, and I didn't even know what they were called. So I googled it today and learned that there is a registered, trademarked name for them—Airdancers. That is way too pleasant a name for something that startles the holy heck out of me every time I see one. I'm surprised they aren't responsible for numerous car accidents. Do you think they have ever enticed someone to buy a car? Maybe as replacements for the ones totaled in nearby crashes?

But my artist/acupuncturist friend and I both agreed that a great writer can conjure up a scary creature made entirely of words that can haunt your dreams forever. No one is more adept at creating such characters than Stephen King. Right up there on our list of mutual fears are sewer clowns. I've never much liked clowns, but ever since King created Pennywise, I shy away from sidewalk grates and sewer drains. I just know a white-gloved hand is going to reach out, grab me by the ankle, and pull me down into the darkness. Unreasonable? Yes. A real fear? Yes. But it seems to be human nature to get off on scary stuff. I still read Stephen King.

In case you're interested in learning more about fears, check out the website at phobialist.com. If you're afraid of chickens, you may suffer from alektorophobia. If going to school frightens you, you might have didaskaleinophobia. If it's vegetables you fear, you've got lachanophobia. If teenagers frighten you, your illness is ephebiphobia. Unfortunately, the list is alphabetical by phobia name, so with just a cursory glance, I didn't find sock monkeys, airdancers, or sewer clowns.

What are you afraid of? (And, yeah, I know that sentence ends in a preposition. But it sure sounds better than "Of what are you afraid?") If you're a writer, what's the scariest situation or character you've written into one of your stories?

Now back to work on my new project.

Norse Mythology and Midnight Sun

I have just finished listening to Neil Gaiman's newest book, Norse Mythology. It's a great collection of stories about Odin, Thor, and Loki in the land of Asgard, made all the more wonderful by Gaiman's lovely voice and accent. He could probably read the phone book aloud, and I'd listen, mesmerized.

A few years ago, I was offered a chance to tag along with two travel professional friends of mine on a trip to Scandinavia. If anyone had asked me if I urgently desired to see the Shetland Islands or bathe in Reykjavik’s Blue Lagoon, I would have said, “Hmm. . . , they aren’t high on my bucket list.” But I am a person who is easily led, so I went along. I considered it a visit to the "mother land," since I'm part Danish, and the itinerary was labeled “the Route of the Vikings.” It seemed  a perfect opportunity to retrace my roots and enjoy some smorrebrod, trolls, fjords, and cool weather with great traveling companions.

This is what people are talking about when they say "The Land of the Midnight Sun." This photo was taken at midnight from our cruise ship balcony. I didn’t stay up to watch the sun set—or rise again—but it boggles my mind to consider exactly where it went. West? East? Both? The phenomenon of nearly 24 hours of daylight is said to cause irritability and hyperactivity. Couldn’t prove it by me, though. Maybe the lemon drop martinis counteracted the effect.





We were lucky our visit coincided with the Kristiansand Sandskulptur Symposium. Here is a portrait of one of our cruise companions. Like us, he ate and drank to excess but had a great time doing it!










Orange, pea green, red, pink, and purple—don’t ya love it? Blanketed in snow several months of the year, and limited to only a few hours of sunlight, residents of Kristiansand know how grab color and run with it. I’m not surprised someone in that house rides a turquoise bike!



As much as I love fish markets, I nearly gagged when I discovered that a sample I’d just eaten was smoked Minke whale. I saw one of those lovely creatures in Alaska once. The Norwegian government closely regulates hunting them for consumption, but still . . .



These colorful wooden houses are located in an area called Bryggen (Norwegian for wharf), the portside shopping area of Bergen. Destroyed by fire for the umpteenth time in 1955, the area was faithfully reconstructed, down to the crooked doorways and leaning walls! It’s now a UNESCO World Heritage site and is filled with restaurants, art galleries, and craft shops.

What I remember most vividly is the countryside near the Norwegian fjord town of Flom—lush green forests, billowing clouds of mist, and thundering waterfalls. It looked like something right out of "Lord of the Rings" or a Norwegian fairytale. It turns out it really is troll country. A family of trolls lives in this house, but they were away for the afternoon the day we stopped by.

Did you know trolls have only four fingers and toes? That's a great piece of cocktail party conversation trivia! They also have really long noses which troll wives use to stir their porridge while it cooks. If you ever eat porridge that's a bit too salty, blame it on some troll's runny nose. (I feel a picture book coming on!)

I wish now that Gaiman had written the book before I took this trip. It would have brought to life all the Norse tales we heard there. I highly recommend Norse Mythology, even if you don't have a trip to Scandinavia planned anytime soon.