I only let my critique partners see parts of the second Half Shell book. I don't want anyone to know where I'm going. From time to time I get interesting responses about things to change. One of the more humorous ones is about the van. The van symbolizes a lot to me: indifference to style, a sense of freedom, and how the world and music was changing at the end of the 80s. My girls if they read the book with go Oh no, mom, why did you write about The Van..
I find it funny that people have a tendency to think its inconsistent with the story and how dedicated my peers are in discussing the worthiness of even the smallest detail. They are a great group of gals dedicated to helping me write the best stories. But that Van is staying and is speckled through the book. It helps me tap into what I was feeling about life and the world then:
“That stupid van!” Rene hisses, merging onto Bancroft Way. “Practically every time I come home he’s in our space and I don’t know why you won’t let me call to get him towed! I’d be doing a public service. That van is hideous.”
I make a face since it is pretty awful: a twelve year old blue extended cargo heap with yellow, green and orange arrows painted on the sides, and those lovely hanging monkey’s on the rear doors holding up their monkey fingers in the hang loose sign.
I put on my sunglasses. “Anyone with a van like that can’t afford to pay for parking in Berkeley and certainly can’t afford to get it out of impound.”
One of my critique partners said I should change it: No one in California would drive that van. And what spoiled princess from Santa Barbara would date anyone who drove a van like that?
It only took typing two letters to answer her: Me!
The Girl on the Half Shell
I find it funny that people have a tendency to think its inconsistent with the story and how dedicated my peers are in discussing the worthiness of even the smallest detail. They are a great group of gals dedicated to helping me write the best stories. But that Van is staying and is speckled through the book. It helps me tap into what I was feeling about life and the world then:
“That stupid van!” Rene hisses, merging onto Bancroft Way. “Practically every time I come home he’s in our space and I don’t know why you won’t let me call to get him towed! I’d be doing a public service. That van is hideous.”
I make a face since it is pretty awful: a twelve year old blue extended cargo heap with yellow, green and orange arrows painted on the sides, and those lovely hanging monkey’s on the rear doors holding up their monkey fingers in the hang loose sign.
I put on my sunglasses. “Anyone with a van like that can’t afford to pay for parking in Berkeley and certainly can’t afford to get it out of impound.”
One of my critique partners said I should change it: No one in California would drive that van. And what spoiled princess from Santa Barbara would date anyone who drove a van like that?
It only took typing two letters to answer her: Me!
The Girl on the Half Shell
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