We grew older and moved into a higher class. Our new English teacher had a bit of a reputation as one the strictest teachers in school. She was small and thin and wore glasses. Her feet didn't quite touch the floor when she sat behind her desk. And we were all in awe of her.
I loved to have English homework by now. I loved to tell stories of dead lovers, dying worlds, bombs falling, destruction, dismay. I delighted in making people cry. Till our teacher called me aside one day and demanded I try to make them laugh.
"Because anyone can make people sad. It takes a real writer to make them laugh."
I wrote a school bus flying over a canyon and filled it with caricatures of the teachers we knew. Even the English teacher laughed. Then I decided I'd like to be a real writer.