This is fantastic news. My inner 11-year-old just died from joy. I don’t even care if the sequel is the worst thing ever. The Goonies is very probably the reason that I love to work with words. “But it’s a movie!” you say. That’s exactly right. It happened like this.
Like most boys that were of a certain age when the original came out, I loved it. Plus, my name is Mike, and I had asthma when I was that age, so no leap was necessary for me to identify with the protagonist. The group of kids were all familiar, too: they talked like me and my friends, irritated each other the same way, and had each others’ backs when it came down to it. In short, it blinded me with awesome.
But I wanted more.
My mother was gracious enough to get me James Kahn’s novelization of the movie, and though I had not been much of a reader to that point, I gleefully tore into it. When I was done, I immediately went back to page one and read it again. Then again. All told, I read the book fifteen times in a row!
After that, I discovered fantasy and sci-fi and never looked back. I’m fairly certain that I’m still catching up on the sleep I lost in high school and college from staying up too late to read.
So thanks, Richard Donner and Steven Spielberg for launching my love of books, reading, and stroytelling.
(And if Goonies 2 weren’t enough, word comes that Star Wars 7 just started shooting. My childhood returns!)
What got you into reading and writing? Let me know in the comments.