Marilyn Todd discusses some of the formative childhood experiences that led to her becoming a writer who has penned over 100 short stories. Check out her latest, “Lest We Forget,” in our March/April issue, on sale now!

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I was ten years old when our teacher, Mr. Harris, set the class the task of writing an essay about anything we wanted, providing it was set on “a day like today”—in other words, raining. (London, eh?) Two days later, my mum was summoned to the headmaster’s office, where Mr. Harris was also waiting for her. Good grief. What on earth had her little angel been up to??

Imagine her surprise, OK relief, when Mr. Harris passed her my red exercise book, and told her that this story proved that my talent needed to be nurtured. Which is what the meeting was about. My stories, he said, hooked the reader from the start, and each had an ending which was totally unexpected.

To be honest, I don’t remember a damn thing about this particular tale. The only reason I remember that it started “Drip. Drip. Drip” is because it became a talking point in the family. For me, it was just one of a thousand I told inside my head, so you can imagine how excited I was to be given the green light to write them all down. I haven’t stopped since.

The idea of going professional never crossed my mind until the song “Scarlet Ribbons” inspired a short piece for our local hospital radio—and gave everyone who listened a much-needed lift, when they were stuck in hospital over Christmas.

Since then, I’ve had 23 historical novels published, over 100 short stories, and whether it’s Ancient Rome, the Wild West, or the Swingin’ 60’s, I find inspiration everywhere. Take that headland in Sweden, where I watched two people take a walk and imagined only one of them coming back. Or saw Medusa as a sculptress, not a monster, chiselling lifelike figures out of stone. Supernatural crime, comic fantasy crime, nothing and nowhere’s off limits. I just like killing people. As for the upcoming Firefly series . . .

This time my crime’s
In Edwardian times,
With a heroine sharper than lime.
They’re nail-biting thrillers,
But while she catches the killers,
She doesn’t half have a bloody good time.