I’ve begun watching Murder, She Wrote on Netflix. It’s the show that made me want to be a writer when I was small. I asked for a typewriter for my 8th birthday (this was before people were issued computers at birth), and I’d tak away on it, imagining myself as Jessica Fletcher. It was plastic and completely manual, but I loved it. Prior to that, I’d had to write out my plays and stories by hand in an old ledger my mother had given me. Sadly, those stories are lost to time. I can only recall that they were either ghost stories or about treasure or unicorns.

The show reminds me of sort of an American version of Midsomer Murders, but I hadn’t realised what a nosey parker Jessica was. And people, though they initially protest, wind up allowing her to poke her nose in.

For my writer friends-here’s the Murder, She Wrote Original Opening (embedding has been disabled.)