The idea is hot but Evans cannot land Rihanna. đ
No, but him trying is the rom com we need and deserve in 2019
Letâs discuss how hard heâd try to woo her.
Concept: Heâs a single guy who friends mess with cuz theyâre all in happy relationships and his ass is 35 and STILL single talmbout âIâm just waiting for the right one.â Since itâs a comedy he gets hypnotized like in Shallow Hal but NOT problematic (donât ask me how or why thatâs the route Iâm taking just go wit it) and the hypnotist like unblocks him to go after what he really wants. Except when he opens his eyes the first attractive girl he sees is a big ass Rihanna poster lit up in the back of the crowd. (Also he stans). So, he thinks heâll find love with her. He then tries to convince his friends that heâs in love⢠with her and theyâre like âwe know youâre a fan but maybe chill a lil???â So for the rest of the film heâs going all the way out to get her to notice him without being arrested for like stalking and shit. And when he finally meets her (by some weird as contrived plot) heâs like âOmfgIloveyousomuch #rihannanavy please marry me.â And she gets a proposal like five times a day so sheâs used to it and sheâs like âdon get me wrong you cute n all but you not de oneâ and heâs like âbut whyyyy????â and sheâs like âcuz? I? Don? Know? U???? SECURITY!â So he heads back home with a black eye and a broken heart. BUT when he gets there heâs comforted by one of his friends who tells him that he was never gonna have a chance with Rihanna. âI mean come on, dude. Itâs RIHANNA!â And itâs in that moment he sees his friend for the first time and is like âhey sheâs kinda cuteâ and shit and badabam badabing they hook up! And he realizes that she was the one he was looking for all alone. They end with a kiss and the credits roll with scenes from their relationship and eventual wedding while a Rihanna song plays and Rihanna even shows up in the credits cuz they go to a concert and the following pic is of the security remembering Chris and jumping off the stage for that ass before fading to black.
Howâs that?
Now, who is the friend in this scenario? And whoâs taking the notes on this screenplay?
It had been more difficult than you imagined keeping the secret from MâBaku. Youâd hidden things in the far reaches of the palace, sneaking in materials after heâd retired for the evening. You werenât necessarily the craftiest person in the land, but you wanted to do this on your own.
So each night, for the last two weeks, youâd snuck off to your secret spot with the intention of surprising your husband. When youâd asked Talib what he wished to be for Halloween and heâd proclaimed Baba in that adorable little voice youâd melted and swooned all at the same time.
Now, you were neck deep into working on his costume and doing your best to make sure he looked just like his father. Youâd swelled with pride at his declaration and wanted to do you husbandâs image justice.
A smattering of fur, leather, and sacred Jabari wood was spread in front of you as you finished the final stitches on the tiny tunic that was an exact replica of MâBakuâs. If it took you all night, youâd make sure your son got exactly what he wanted. Over your shoulder you could hear the tiniest of voices practicing his fatherâs grunt. It was adorable, far from fierce, but he was trying. Without warning, a blur moved beside you and the warm body of Talib climbed into your lap. You cuddled him and kissed his shock of curls.
âYou wanna try on your costume?â
He nodded and pushed his arms into the sky to help you remove his pajama top and replace it with the tunic. You tickled his belly briefly and melted again at the bubble of laugher that filled the room.
You took time to adjust each part of his garb, grateful Talib was cooperative and remained still. Patient like his father, you mused.
He looked adorable! There hadnât been any doubt he would, but seeing a miniature version of MâBaku tickled you beyond reason. You crouched down to eye level with him and put on a serious face.
âOh Great Gorilla! I didnât know you were here!â
You stifled a giggle as Talibâs head whipped around, looking for his father in the doorway. When he found it empty, he returned his gaze to you.
âMama! Baba is not here!â
âHeâs not? I thought he was standing before me! Give me your best grunt, your highness!â
You watched as your baby screwed his face in concentration and let out a bark that actually startled you. He found this amusing and advanced upon you. He grunted and barked as he launched onto you, bringing you tumbling to the floor
When your laughter subsided, the real Great Gorilla was in the doorway. He looked full of pride. His eyes were soft and smiling.
âWho is this great warrior with my wife?â His voice boomed although you could read the humor in it.
Talib rose and approached his father.
âMe! Baba, itâs me!â
âBut my Talib is but a boy! I see a fierce warrior standing before me.â
MâBaku crouched down at eye level with his son. It felt as if your heart was going to burst out of your chest.
Talibâs little hands palmed his fatherâs cheeks.
âLook again! Itâs me!â
MâBakuâs face lit in recognition. âIt is my boy! Did your mama make this for you?â
The little boy nodded furiously. âIâm you, Baba! The Great Gorilla!â
You watched with love as your husband scooped the child into his arms and the two of them launched into a serious discussion of their shared armor. It was beautiful, the past and the present standing before you.
dales-coopers: Ok who hated that beard? Because I fucking loved it. And Iâm still mad about them canceling Pitch. So much missed potential. (Source: https://www.youtube.com/)
Itâs okay. Your desire to write will return. Your desire to do other things you love will come back, too. Youâre not weak. Youâre just having a hard time right now. Try not to add self-judgment on top of everything else. Depression is hard enough without blaming yourself for it.
We (in the US specifically) live in a productivity-obsessed, emotion-phobic culture which blames individuals for âfailingâ when they are anything but hyper-productive and relentlessly optimistic. This cultural narrative so pervasive that itâs difficult to see the high standards we set for ourselves for what they really are: Complete and total bullshit.
Despite the rampant cultural garbage that teaches us to interpret emotional ups and downs as an aberration, MANY writers and artists (and people in general!) struggle with depression and other mood âdisorders.â It is not uncommon for us, among other things, to go through periods of hyperactivity followed by depressive episodes in which we get very little accomplished. I am not saying you shouldnât try to alleviate your depression or work to find ways to minimize your suffering in the short or long term. Iâm just saying thereâs nothing wrong with you, and you arenât alone.
Iâm going to say that again:
If youâre having a hard time writing or enjoying writing right now because youâre depressed, you arenât alone.
I wish I had some kind of magical answer. I donât. But I do know that accepting your depression and loving yourself anyway beats the hell out of berating yourself for feeling like this. So, with that in mind, this might be all I have to offer:
I think youâre doing a great job. Iâm sorry you feel like shit. Iâm on your side whether youâre writing or not; whether you feel good or not; whether youâre being âproductiveâ or not; whether you wanted to get out of bed this morning or not. Youâre still a writer to me, even if youâre not writing right now. You donât have to prove yourself to me or anyone else. I love you, and I hope you feel better soon.
//////////////
The Literary Architect is a writing advice blog run by me, Bucket Siler. For more writing help, check out my Free Resource Library, peruse my post guide, or hire meto edit your novel or short story. xoxo
JackburtonSays 