'Scoring Wilder', A Review

Intelligent, relatively self-aware 19-year-old protagonist, check. Hot, talented love interest, check. A number of writing mistakes like "Her and Emily" and "the Coffee Shop", a big ol' check. Well-paced beach read that left me satisfied, check. 

It was refreshing that...

A Scene from My Nonexistent Movie Script

So picture this:

It's a movie - my movie, tentatively titled Drowsy Crown just because I like those words together, and in a kitchen scene, artists of different kinds are all going about their breakfast routines. Here's what I have figured out so far: There's a girl with long, wavy brown hair wearing blue skinny jeans and standing to the left, trying to get the guy in the middle of the room to remember that the white bins in the garage are meant for separating plastic and paper recyclables. She doesn’t have time to clean up after her roommates this week, because she has a test from Professor Lauren, her most challenging instructor. He's taking a break after working through the night on a play he's very cryptic about, what with his being a secret perfectionist, a "you can’t read it 'til it's finished" guy who’d be halfway through a burrito, find himself struck by an idea and forget to finish eating.
In the back right of the room (stage left) is a guy in a bathrobe, tube socks slouching around his ankles, a necklace hiding underneath the collar of his shirt. He has very short hair and is listening to the recyclables conversation, amused, tilting his chair back periodically, eating a bowl of cereal. He doesn't live in this house. His presence will be fleeting and carefully staged on the part of the director so that the audience can better see the shape of this artists' group. I'm afraid to call them a collective at this stage, but the friendships in this gaggle have to make sense. I don't want them to be ragtag. They don't need each other, they choose each other to lean on.

And I've decided that the bathrobe guy is Sam Pink. 

My Dream Hair

I do love my tresses, it’s true; the nearly-black natural color, the fact that I haven’t dyed my whole head of hair, that day in 2001 when I took a chance by having it cut from just-past-the-shoulders to a short almost-pixie inspired by Mandy Moore. That last decision liberated me from a useless obsession with the long, thick hair that I was actually overwhelmed by.

These days, it’s still short, but I’ve learned a few styling techniques and introduced myself to the fun of making it colorful. I’ve had red highlights, blue-green bangs, and at one point, a panel of red, orange and blonde.

When I inevitably get bored with my look, I don’t just think of what I want to do next, but I fantasize, too, about having 22 inches of purple, Joss Stone-style waves to toss over my shoulder and wear with a black dress.