Reading a book like this is exasperating. Why? Because unlike so many people who think they have stories to tell, Aimee actually does. However, the actually ‘telling’ could be done SO much better.

Coloring... is really two tales. First is the glimpse at the early 80's L.A. punk scene told from the perspective of a woman who is neither musician nor girlfriend of, but a devotee who begs her way into a job as a receptionist/lackey/gopher of “Slash”, a local punk magazine and record label. Second is the journey of a young woman discovering herself, her direction and values, and the consequences of her choices. Unfortunately neither of these narratives are as vivid or compelling as they could be.

From the opening chapter of Aimee’s adolescent adoration and eventual disillusionment of mainstream rock, specifically Jagger and The Stones, to the final chapter where she emerges from the L.A. punk scene more or less intact, but wiser for the wear, I was clamoring for more. More description, more detail, more thoughts and feelings - more of what makes writing compelling. Memoirs are difficult creatures, requiring great amounts of courage, insight and semi-objective observation, but to be effective, they also demand a certain rapport or empathy be established between the writer and reader. This can often mean psychological bloodletting on the part of the author, but alas, that is another non-negotiable offering at the altar of exemplary composition.

I truly wanted to understand Aimee’s adolescent isolation, and the undeniable yearning for acceptance that drove her to California and into the arms of the misfit punk kids of L.A. I wanted to share her metamorphosis from naive conventional college student to chain-sporting member of the outcasts. Her listed cohorts were numerous and mostly without identity, and the erosion of their various relationships was vague and without concrete illustration. It wasn’t until the last chapter, when Aimee flat-out told me, that I realized her eighteen month sojourn into the bowels of pseudo-commune life was a reaction to her poor self-image and lack of identity. This fact painted the entire narrative with a completely different hue.

She speaks of punk icons, her fleeing encounters and her insecure perceptions, but she never lets us in on their humanity. She could’ve taken the opportunity to educate her readers on L.A. punk history and context, giving them a foundation to understand her words. Instead it seems as if she makes the dangerous assumption that her readers originate from her same frame of reference and thereby will comprehend the significance of the events she relates. Since her story could appeal to a wider audience than former punks or current punk aficionados, this lack of sociological information becomes a powerful deficit.

Memories are tricky and recollections grow fuzzy over the years; hence the need for secondary source material. Aimee is not wrong in thinking others would find her tale of personal development midst the chaos of early 80's punk interesting, even relate to it on some levels, she just had the misfortune of not finding an editor that would push her far enough. After an extensive web search, I still don’t know if Rowdy’s Press is a self-publisher or just a very small indie house out of Texas, but I will say this - if Aimee ever wants to sell her memoir to a larger market, I’ll gladly offer my developmental editorial advice. Coloring Outside the Lines could be better - SHOULD be better. Any story worth telling is worth telling well.