On worms, apples, and chewiness

There are worms, and there are wyrms. One is small, weak-bodied and blind. The other is a wily and fearsome beast, the ultimate opponent. The two words have wildly opposite meanings – or do they?

In a paradox both bizarre and beautiful, it turns out that these words share a common origin. And not only that, the ‘thingness’ of each of these words is inextricably linked in the same conceptual space that each of us develops as a child, as we learn about the world.

What do I mean?  Both worm and wyrm share a common characteristic – that of snake-ness. The snake-ness of each word is vastly different, and yet, the ‘thingness’ of snake is such a powerful concept, that it embeds itself solidly into our conceptual maps at an early age. And there it stays.

Proof?  Take a look at YouTube.  There are dozens of videos of adorable toddlers finding ‘snakes’ – invariably earthworms (or similar). The worm is what is most commonly experienced, and yet snake is the concept that has already lodged foremost in the child’s mind.

Ask yourself this: how is it that we all know what a dinosaur is, when that ‘thing’ ceased to exist millennia ago? How is it that we know what a dragon is, when that ‘thing’ never existed at all? It’s because they are powerful concepts that we learn early, and then draw upon throughout our lives.

It’s a bit like that trick, where you get someone to do some maths, and then you ask them to say an animal or a vegetable. They always say elephant or carrot. It’s because the unique ‘thingness’ of elephants and carrots develops in our conceptual frameworks early in our childhood.  And it stays there, as a central, quickly accessed mental construct.

In this way, the thingness of the worm and the wyrm are meshed together conceptually. It’s the snake-ness of them that has informed the evolution of the words from the worm-like, through the snake-like, to the dragon-like. Not only that, it has occurred simultaneously across cultures, as both the language and the mythology of wyrm and dragon have evolved in different places over thousands of years.

The earliest representations of wyrms/dragons were largely serpent-like in nature, and then later evolved into reptilian creatures with legs and wings. According to my (not fact-checked) internet research, the Greek source word for dragon (drákōn) is related to the word for eye, and in early legends, the dragon was very much a watcher and guardian of treasure. There’s a nice, unblinking snake-ness in that idea. Because snakes don’t blink. They have a clear scale over their eyes that gives them their unnerving, glassy stare.

In one Greek legend, the dragon Ladon lies entwined in a serpentine manner around a tree in the Garden of the Hesperides, guarding the Golden Apples of immortality.  It reminds me of another story that involves a tree and a serpent and some divine apples that the humans aren’t supposed to eat. (Please tell me I’m not the only person who has noticed this similarity. And yet, on this topic, the internet is strangely quiet). In these stories, we find more of those powerful early-formed ideas: the garden, the tree – and the apple.  The simple apple invokes youth, health, sweetness, ripeness, temptation, desire, reward, favour – so much more than just fruit.

The ‘thingness’ of these words is meshed so deeply in our mental constructs that they exist way down near the bedrock of our consciousness. These aren’t just things, they are primal, powerful symbols.  And if you put them in your writing, that’s the part of your reader’s mind that they will speak to.  This is where the power of metaphor and symbol comes from.

Sure, lizards and apricots could be effective in your story, if used well. But if you use more fundamental images like snakes and apples, even with the lightest of touches, you will invoke a much richer set of mental associations, and engage the reader’s whole mind.

This is the quality I like to call chewiness. It’s the extra something that gives your writing texture and makes it infinitely more satisfying to your readers. Not that they will be able to express exactly why, because it all happens on a subconscious level. By invoking powerful metaphors, your writing strolls into the garden of their psyches, tames the serpent, and hands them an apple, sans the worm.