Richard’s stories begin long before he sits at the keyboard. Often they start with a single question—“What did the man on the mat think when the roof opened?” or “What happened to the boy with the loaves and fishes when he went home?”—and a half‑remembered creek from his childhood in South Australia or suburban Melbourne. From there he reads and re‑reads the relevant Bible passage, paying close attention to tiny details: a place name, a throw‑away line, a look in the crowd. He then imagines an ordinary person on the edge of that scene and asks what they might have feared, hoped or misunderstood in that moment.
Drafts are written by hand or in a simple document, usually in first person, as if the character is talking directly to the reader. Richard lets the voice ramble at first, collecting sensory details—the grit of dust, the crush of the crowd, the smell of fish or incense—before trimming the piece back so that every sentence serves the heart of the story. After that, the draft is checked carefully against Scripture to be sure that, while the internal thoughts are imagined, the events themselves remain faithful to the biblical text. Only then does he polish the language, looking for places where a fresh image or a quiet pause can help readers step into the scene and feel, for a moment, as if they too were there.