This would offer certain space advantages. And it definitely has more panache than my car. I believe the back seat converts into a bed.
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My Book: True Kin
A Short Film
The Project
The Book: True Kin: Stories
The Author: Ric Jahna
The reading tour and documentary project began in my home state of Florida, in late July. We visited towns in the mid to lower peninsula, profiling independent bookstores and the dedicated people who keep them alive.
Further readings will be held primarily at independent booksellers, libraries, and other locally owned businesses. If you'd like to schedule a stop in your town, please drop us a line.
The Author: Ric Jahna
The reading tour and documentary project began in my home state of Florida, in late July. We visited towns in the mid to lower peninsula, profiling independent bookstores and the dedicated people who keep them alive.
Further readings will be held primarily at independent booksellers, libraries, and other locally owned businesses. If you'd like to schedule a stop in your town, please drop us a line.
Links
Author Readings and Signings
About Me
Road Dogs! (Always in Flux)
- Ziggy
- Rae Rae
- Gatsby
- Mocha Bear
- Elle
- Nick
- Brian
7 comments:
Oh my Ric..
Some how, I can really see you driving that van.
I'd buy it if'n I were you. ;)
SWEEEEEEEEET!
How much? Buy that shit!
You know rule one of owning a van that sweet, right?
Oh yeah...this is it. This is the one. I hope I get to see this tangerine baby in KW. Awesome.
D. Suave composes, "Ode to Van"
Like many other nine-year-old boys across the country, Alfred Wright decided to run away. His parents were fighting again. They were always fighting. His mom claimed that the most recent bruises on her face occurred when she fell down steps of the back porch. Alfred was too ashamed to argue.
He put a change of clothes, beef jerky, and water—lots of water—in his bookbag and left his parents solitary house tucked away in the hills of southeast Arizona between Douglas and Naco.
He found the keys to his dad's van in the pocket of a manure-splattered pair of jeans. Ric, his dad, worked long hours as an aritifical horse inseminator. He was bone-tired from another long day, and the six-pack of beer he had guzzled down assured Alfred that stealing the keys would be a piece of cake. It was.
Alfred had never driven before, but he always kicked his friends' asses at the car racing games in the arcade. How hard could it be to repeat the performance in real life? Desert roads were as straight as they were empty.
His dad's van was a piece of orange rust. It didn't even have air conditioning. Why did his dad, Ric, insist on driving the piece of shit? Alfred didn't know. The only thing he knew was he was headed off for San Francisco and the land of Rice-A-Roni.
oh yea, and in case you didn't know it, D. Suave = the Seahawk of the Southwest. Palabra arriba.
D. Suave,
You've rendered me speechless.
Given your numerous graduate degrees, you surely understand that your comment places in you in self-referential trouble.
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