12 Things to Do Before You Crash and Burn
by Proimos, Jr., JamesFormat: Hardcover
Pub. Date: 2011-11-08
Publisher(s): Roaring Brook
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Summary
James "Hercules" Martino has until the end of the summer (a.k.a. two weeks) to accomplish the twelve tasks given to him by his Uncle Anthony. The tasks will take him to the far reaches of Baltimore, lead him to a Beautiful and Unattainable Woman, and change the way he sees his past, present, and future. Spare in words, but abundant in big ideas and laugh out loud humor, James Proimos has crafted a novel for any teenager who's ever had a complicated relationship with a parent. In other words, everyone.
Author Biography
James Proimos is married to a Beautiful and Attainable Woman and they live on a small
horse farm outside of Baltimore. He has written several books for children, but this is his first
novel for young adults.
horse farm outside of Baltimore. He has written several books for children, but this is his first
novel for young adults.
Table of Contents
1
The casket is closed. It was a plane crash, after all.
The pews overfloweth. As do the sentiments of the never-ending line of avid admirers, casual acquaintances, business associates, relatives, and what have you that take their turn at the podium on the church stage.
One person leaves, another takes his or her place. It’s been going on for hours.
A chubby lady wobbles to the microphone:
“He was as fabulous as a man could be. He was rich, but he was charitable. He was strong, he was sensitive. I was lucky to know him. We were all lucky to know him.”
She wobbles off.
A tall man in a black suit with a big red bow tie sprints up to the pulpit:
“He was a god. A god, I tell you.”
He sprints back to his seat.
An entire family, one of them holding a crying baby, gets up there and sings “The Wind Beneath My Wings.”
Now the whole place is bawling.
There is a long silence.
Suddenly, all eyes turn to me. I seem to be the last person who might have something to say.
I slowly walk up to the front of the church. I stand at the podium. I clear my throat.
“He was an ass. My father was a complete and total ass.”
Text copyright © 2011 by James Proimos
The casket is closed. It was a plane crash, after all.
The pews overfloweth. As do the sentiments of the never-ending line of avid admirers, casual acquaintances, business associates, relatives, and what have you that take their turn at the podium on the church stage.
One person leaves, another takes his or her place. It’s been going on for hours.
A chubby lady wobbles to the microphone:
“He was as fabulous as a man could be. He was rich, but he was charitable. He was strong, he was sensitive. I was lucky to know him. We were all lucky to know him.”
She wobbles off.
A tall man in a black suit with a big red bow tie sprints up to the pulpit:
“He was a god. A god, I tell you.”
He sprints back to his seat.
An entire family, one of them holding a crying baby, gets up there and sings “The Wind Beneath My Wings.”
Now the whole place is bawling.
There is a long silence.
Suddenly, all eyes turn to me. I seem to be the last person who might have something to say.
I slowly walk up to the front of the church. I stand at the podium. I clear my throat.
“He was an ass. My father was a complete and total ass.”
Text copyright © 2011 by James Proimos
Excerpts
1
The casket is closed.It was a plane crash, after all.
The pews overfloweth. As do the sentiments of the never-ending line of avid admirers, casual acquaintances, business associates, relatives, and what have you that take their turn at the podium on the church stage.
One person leaves, another takes his or her place. It’s been going on for hours.
A chubby lady wobbles to the microphone:
“He was as fabulous as a man could be. He was rich, but he was charitable. He was strong, he was sensitive. I was lucky to know him. We were all lucky to know him.”
She wobbles off.
A tall man in a black suit with a big red bow tie sprints up to the pulpit:
“He was a god. A god, I tell you.”
He sprints back to his seat.
An entire family, one of them holding a crying baby, gets up there and sings “The Wind Beneath My Wings.”
Now the whole place is bawling.
There is a long silence.
Suddenly, all eyes turn to me. I seem to be the last person who might have something to say.
I slowly walk up to the front of the church. I stand at the podium. I clear my throat.
“He was an ass. My father was a complete and total ass.”
Text copyright © 2011 by James Proimos
The casket is closed.It was a plane crash, after all.
The pews overfloweth. As do the sentiments of the never-ending line of avid admirers, casual acquaintances, business associates, relatives, and what have you that take their turn at the podium on the church stage.
One person leaves, another takes his or her place. It’s been going on for hours.
A chubby lady wobbles to the microphone:
“He was as fabulous as a man could be. He was rich, but he was charitable. He was strong, he was sensitive. I was lucky to know him. We were all lucky to know him.”
She wobbles off.
A tall man in a black suit with a big red bow tie sprints up to the pulpit:
“He was a god. A god, I tell you.”
He sprints back to his seat.
An entire family, one of them holding a crying baby, gets up there and sings “The Wind Beneath My Wings.”
Now the whole place is bawling.
There is a long silence.
Suddenly, all eyes turn to me. I seem to be the last person who might have something to say.
I slowly walk up to the front of the church. I stand at the podium. I clear my throat.
“He was an ass. My father was a complete and total ass.”
Text copyright © 2011 by James Proimos
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