No really.
I straight-up loathe them.
I don't care how big or small they are, I don't like them.
They're evil bastards. In fact, at our house, we call them "Satan's Snowflakes." Each one is unique, individually handcrafted by the god of the underworld.
(Yeah, we're a little dramatic here.)
So anyway, my hatred for spiders is...um, well, pretty intense.
I should clarify, I don't want them to die or anything, I just want them as far away from me as possible. Australia would be great! (Sorry, Raewyn.)
But as deep as my fear and loathing for spiders are, I love what they make. I find webs utterly fascinating. I'm not saying I like to unsuspectingly walk through them. That makes me do the Spider Dance of Terror (When neighbor kids point and laugh you know you're doing it right.) but I do love webs. I even love to watch them being created - you know, from a safe distance and through a pair of high-powered binoculars.
I love the intricate beauty of them. They're as delicate as they are powerful - not unlike stories. You've got the straight bits that form the structure of the web - or the plot points, if you will. Then you've got all the wind-y, lacy parts. They're like the details of the story - the breathtaking turns of phrase that stop you dead and beg you to re-read them.
Webs like stories have a seductive kind of power about them. They invite the bugs and readers inside and the really good ones trap us there. The bugs are toast, but we get away from the story eventually. But the the really great ones take up at least a little bit of permanent space in our minds - catching wisps of thoughts and ideas.
A few years ago, my family and I went to the Bristol Ren Faire in Wisconsin and we came across this woman. She was a storyteller in the Fairy Glen. And while she told stories, she worked on this giant web.
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