Creating fictional worlds is one of Richard’s favourite parts of writing. Whether he is imagining life in the dusty streets of first‑century Jerusalem or deep underground in the hidden caverns of Under Arnhem, every world begins with a simple “what if?”. What if you grew up in a place where no one had seen the sky for generations? What if you were a market‑stall worker who happened to be there the day a miracle took place? From that starting point he begins sketching maps, listing everyday details (food, work, families, slang), and asking how faith, fear and hope would look in that setting.
For Richard, a believable world is built from small, concrete details rather than long explanations. He thinks about noises, smells and textures first—the scrape of sandals on stone, the echo of water in a tunnel, the way lamplight falls on a crowded room—and lets these details hint at the bigger structures of society, technology and belief. He also pays attention to limits: what his characters can’t do or don’t know shapes the story as much as what they can. Above all, every world he creates has to leave space for encounter with God, whether openly named or quietly implied. In that way, his fictional settings become mirrors, helping readers see their own world, and their own walk of faith, from a fresh angle.