One of my favorite mementos of anyone’s childhood is anything the now-adult wrote when he or she was under the age of thirteen. As far as I can tell, nearly all children are Tavi Gevinsons now, so I’m sure it won’t be as fun for them when they are adults (“Ugh, here’s a thinkpiece I wrote on the negative affect Twitter has on a writer’s creative process when I was, like, 10 years old, yuck, so embarrassing.”), but when we were kids were were all STRAIGHT UP DUMB-DUMB WEIRDOS! When I was home recently I found a play I wrote in either fourth or fifth grade in which a friend attempts to murder a ghost by shooting it, but to make sure the ghost doesn’t run away the friend tells another friend to stand behind it. And then the friend dies? And becomes another ghost. Hahahah. I know that makes me sound like a sociopath, but do remember that it was 100 years ago, it was played for comedy, and you don’t know me so maybe I am a sociopath. LONG STORY SHORT, children are insane, and their writing is the best. Case in point: this eight-year-old’s Friends spec script.