Why I wrote Then Tommy Came Home
Stories have to come from somewhere, am I right? Whether
it be a current event in the nightly news or an idea spawned from a
random conversation between friends. Never being one to leave well
enough alone, my mind starts to wander and the process begins. I
won't speak for every writer, but that's how it starts with me. Equal
parts reality and flight of fancy. Like a well-conceived lie, I then
wrap these half-truths in a blanket of what if's
and see what direction it takes me. That is my modus operandi, and it
seems to work for me. So I'm sticking with it.
Writing Then Tommy Came Home for the
Paladins project was no exception. When Aidan Thorn
first approached me with the idea of putting the thing together, I
had to dig deep into that mental Rolodex of fledgling ideas for one
that would hopefully do the project the justice it deserved. After
all, Paladins anthology promised to feature some of
the best indie authors across the globe. Combine that with the fact
that the proceeds are earmarked to benefit the Multiple Myeloma
Research Foundation in honor of my lovely wife, Henrietta, who has
battled this disease for going on four years now. Needless to say I
felt the pressure to produce a story that would shine.
First and foremost, my story is dedicated to Henri. She
is my constant source of my inspiration, as is anyone who has stood
toe to toe with the dreaded monster that is cancer. The foreward that
she has written for the collection pretty much says it all. She did
not pick this fight, it picked her. We are truly blessed to have such
an awesome group of friends and family that have supported us along
the way. Among those are the generous folks who have contributed
their time and talents to bring this project to fruition. Each of the
amazing stories that made their way into the book serve as a reminder
that the world is truly full of heroes... or Paladins if you will.
The
subject matter for Tommy
is
another story altogether. Without giving up any spoilers, I'd like to
shed a bit of insight on where I was coming from when I wrote it.
You'd have to go way back to September 5,
1982. I was growing up on a small farm on the outskirts of an equally
small Iowa town. I didn't know it at the time, but by the time I'd
crawled out of bed on that otherwise typical Sunday morning a young
man by the name of Johnny Gosch had already been missing for several
hours. Now I didn't know Johnny. We had pretty much nothing in
common. He lived halfway across the state near the big city of Des
Moines. I lived five miles from the closest town, so small that even
most Iowans couldn't point it out on a map. Johnny delivered
newspapers around his suburban neighborhood for spending money. My
closest thing to a job was shoveling pig shit for... well, just
because it needed done. The one thing we shared was our closeness in
age. We were both 12 years old the day Johnny up and vanished.
Like the title character in my story, Johnny really was one of the
first missing children to ever appear on the front of a milk carton.
The face of that boy, the one I never had actually met in real life,
stared back at me during breakfast for the better part of the winter
of '82-83. We became “friends” for a lack of a better word.
Anything problem that I had at school or at home, the stuff I
couldn't bring myself to share with anyone else, I could always tell
Johnny. That smiling grin frozen in time never judged or ridiculed.
He just stared back across the breakfast table and listened.
In time our elite little clique grew in number. Eugene Martin,
another paperboy from the Des Moines area had disappeared under the
same mysterious circumstances as Johnny. Another face on the front of
a milk carton to join me for my morning ritual of breakfast cereal
and one-sided conversation. I was now a teenager and less than a
month from beginning high school. I had football practices and all of
the other social outlets that being a young teenager had to offer.
But I never stopped wondering what really happened to my two pseudo
friends. Even to this day, not a day goes by that they don't cross my
mind as least for a moment or two.
To this day the whereabouts of my faithful breakfast club pals has
ever been solved. A Google search of their names will generate a
hundred different theories as to what happened to them after they
seemingly vanished without a trace. Some are ridiculous. The more
plausible ones are so fucked up that they will probably give you
reoccurring nightmares. I'm just thankful that the internet wasn't at
my disposal when I was younger. The world may be full of heroes and
paladins, but it is also filled with some truly evil people.
So if you are so kind as to take a gander at my contribution to the
Paladins anthology do me a favor. Leave your porch
light as you settle into your warm and safe bed at night. You never
know when someone who has lost their way might need a bit of light to
find their way home.
Good night Johnny and Eugene. Wherever you are.
Your pal ~ Craig Furchtenicht
