Last night I had a read through for a play where I am 12 years old (and Gina’s son. Ha!). All weekend I thought about what it would be like to be twelve again, but with all the hindsight I have now because that is what I’ll have to be on stage.
It’s hard. I can’t remember that pre-adolescent moving without self-consciousness, and saying what came to mind with no thoughts as to what people would think, and being convinced that everything was logical and true and black and white.
In the thinking about that I’ve been thinking a lot about who I was at twelve, and leading up to twelve, and how I was both very like and completely unlike my character, Paul.
As such, the next few posts will be peppered with a sort of autobiographical reflection that I’m not really known for on here. Please just bare with me, and try to imagine me but more rational and tinier (but with just as big of a head).
I suspect I’ll do a fare share of creative re-imagining of my past not as deceit but just because this stuff has been bouncing around in my head for so many years that I only know how to tell it this way, which is maybe not quite the way it originally happened.