Christmas Corpse - Mona Marple

ONE PENNY A STORY, I called across the playground. n Entirely unusual, given how shy I was (and still am), for me to be shouting anything across a playground. n But there I was, a double-sided sheet of narrow ruled paper (I've always been kind of particular about the paper I like. Back then, narrow ruled. Now, grid.) in my hand, selling stories I hadn't yet wrote. n Every line featured a different title. I'd lay on my bed the night before thinking of them all, probably singing along to Boyzone songs as I did [hey, don't judge... I see you over there like you never thought you were destined to marry a boy band singer...]. n My school friends could buy a Mona original for one penny. One penny! n They'd pick the title they liked, hand over their sweaty penny, and I'd write the story for them. n And I've never grown out of writing stories. n Now, I write cozy mystery stories from my den in the Peak District, and when I'm not writing them, I'm reading them.