Today, as usual, I reread the prior day’s writing. I decided to re-do the last sentence.
Here’s how it was:
“Uh.” Colton said stopping in front of the two-car garage.
Here’s the updated version:
“Uh.” Colton pulled into the paved driveway already half-covered with snow. “What’s fitting?” He pointed the Ram toward a detached garage, then backed into the carport’s unoccupied spot beside Pop’s twenty-year old Buick.
Sandy didn’t respond but jumped out and headed to his grandfather’s car. He hoped, at worse, all it would need was a battery charge. A thrill of confidence flooded his mind. Finally, Colton was letting him have a say. First, Pop’s place as base camp, then his well-maintained car as transportation to and from Chicago. As usual, the key was under the floor mat. Thankfully, it started right off.
“Somebody’s either living here or routinely coming. Otherwise, the battery would be dead.” Colton said, standing between the Ram and Pop’s Buick, worrying about the house’s heat, given the bitter cold weather forecast.
Sandy stared at the dash, his face red as a male cardinal. He thought of Mildred Simmons next door. “Shit.”
Author: Richard L. Fricks
Writer, observer, and student of presence. After decades as a CPA, attorney, and believer in inherited purpose, I now live a quieter life built around clarity, simplicity, and the freedom to begin again.
I write both nonfiction and fiction:
The Pencil-Driven Life, a memoir and daily practice of awareness, and the Boaz, Alabama novels—character-driven stories rooted in the complexities of ordinary life.
I live on seventy acres we call Oak Hollow, where my wife and I care for seven rescued dogs and build small, intentional spaces that reflect the same philosophy I write about. Oak Hollow Cabins is in the development stage (opening March 1, 2026), and is—now and always—a lived expression of presence: cabins, trails, and quiet places shaped by the land itself.
My background as a Fictionary Certified StoryCoach Editor still informs how I understand story, though I no longer offer coaching. Instead, I share reflections through The Pencil’s Edge and @thepencildrivenlife, exploring what it means to live lightly, honestly, and without a script.
Whether I’m writing, building, or walking the land, my work is rooted in one simple truth:
Life becomes clearer when we stop trying to control the story and start paying attention to the moment we’re in.
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The Pencil Driven Life 