Most of my fiction begins with a simple question: What if…?
Sometimes that question leads to a wagon train headed west. Sometimes it leads to a cattle drive across Texas. And occasionally, it leads somewhere completely unexpected.
Recently, I wrote a short story titled The Red Car. Like many of my stories, it began with an ordinary idea and gradually became something much deeper than I had planned.
The story follows Gary, a seventy-nine-year-old widower who decides it is finally time to fulfill a lifelong dream. He purchases a beautifully restored 1955 MG TF, a bright red British sports car that turns heads everywhere it goes. To his children and grandchildren, the little roadster seems like an amusing retirement indulgence. To Gary, however, it represents something far more important—a reminder that life still has adventures left to offer.
As Gary learns the quirks of driving and maintaining a seventy-year-old British sports car, the MG begins opening doors he never expected. It introduces him to Helen, a retired fine arts professor who shares his appreciation for history, craftsmanship, and the quiet pleasures of later life. What begins as conversations about old automobiles soon grows into a warm and unexpected romance between two people who thought their greatest adventures were behind them.
Of course, every good story needs conflict. Gary discovers that restoring an antique automobile is easier than overcoming the limitations of an aging body. Mechanical breakdowns, health concerns, family relationships, and the lingering memories of spouses they both dearly loved force Gary and Helen to confront questions that have little to do with automobiles and everything to do with growing older gracefully.
At its heart, The Red Car is not really about an MG TF.
It’s about second chances.
It’s about discovering that dreams postponed are not necessarily dreams abandoned.
It’s about family, friendship, and finding love when you least expect it.
And yes, it’s about a little red sports car that has far more personality than many people.
Life Imitates Fiction
Here’s the amusing part.
After finishing the story, I found myself thinking about that little MG TF more and more. Before long I was browsing websites, studying restoration photos, learning about British sports cars, and wondering…
“What if?”
Eventually, I stopped wondering.
I bought one.
Today, there’s a genuine 1955 MG TF sitting in my garage. Like Gary, I’m learning its peculiar British vocabulary (bonnet instead of hood, boot instead of trunk), its mechanical quirks, and the simple joy of driving a machine that reminds people of another era.
So in a very real sense, The Red Car changed my own life.
Sometimes we write fiction.
Sometimes fiction writes us.