
Once upon a time, I was an actor. Before I was a Christian, before I was a wife and mom, before I was a teacher, before I was a writer … this goes way back—high school and early college.
During those formative and tumultuous years, theatre was just about my whole life. It got me through high school in one piece, and it gave my life purpose and meaning. The stage was home to me.
After auditions, we actors would wait breathlessly for the cast list to be posted. We all had an idea of the role we really wanted. Sometimes we wanted the lead role, but not always. Sometimes we yearned for the smaller but more interesting role, or the role that would be more “fun” to play.
The “fun” roles were, as you might suspect, quite often the role of the villain, the antagonist, the person who causes friction or trouble of some kind. The person who has deep troubles or desires or motivations that are not … nice. Those roles are interesting, and if I were a psychologist I could probably write an article on why those roles are so interesting, but instead I’m just going to tell one story about one role in one play.
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