Bad Boys, Nice Guys and Female Gym Teachers

My enjoyment of writing began early, as I described in a previous post Pretty Girls, Phallic Symbols, and the Mysterious Human Brain.  Starting with childish tributes to my mother’s beauty (almost as soon as I could write), I soon became more sophisticated.   By age 11, I was regaling my friends with a novella written in daily installments.  As we walked to school, they listened, wide-eyed, to a growing tale of deep mystery.  It was set in London, with a lovely young heroine who had recently lost her mother.  As she visited the cemetery one foggy, lonely night…