Transcendence follows a man with no memories and doesn’t even know his name who wakes up next to a dumpster in a chaotic world and must find allies to survive and try to reclaim his memories. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?

In my first book, Alphamind: The Collective Consciousness, I explored humanity’s evolution toward a future of heightened awareness and connection. With Transcendence, I wanted to take a different path. This time, I was drawn to those left behind in the chaos—people struggling to make sense of a world that no longer feels like their own. The protagonist’s memory loss became a metaphor for that disorientation. Through his journey, I wanted to honor those who endure upheaval, who survive in the margins of progress, and who, in their quiet resilience, are just as vital to shaping what comes next.

The science inserted in the fiction, I felt, was well balanced. How did you manage to keep it grounded while still providing the fantastic edge science fiction stories usually provide?

Actually, it might have happened the other way around. I’ve long been a fan of science, and the concepts I wanted to explore were rooted in real scientific ideas and their broader impact on society. But rather than presenting them directly, I turned to fiction as the most powerful way to convey them. Science fiction has a unique strength: it draws readers in with imagination and emotional depth, then invites them to engage with complex ideas. I approached Transcendence as an emotional thriller, using story and character as the vehicle to explore deeper truths about consciousness, technology, and transformation.

What was one scene in the novel that you felt captured the morals and message you were trying to deliver to readers?

That’s a tough question, honestly, because there isn’t just one message in Transcendence. If anything, the story is a reflection of how layered and contradictory human experience can be. But if I had to choose one moment that felt personally meaningful, it would be a quiet exchange between two very different characters: Lawrence, a sharp, goal-driven visionary who sometimes lets the ends justify the means, and Alex, who’s more grounded in compassion and self-awareness.

Lawrence asks, “Is the pastor’s heart from your past still at work? The small-town shepherd still searching for lost souls to save?”

And Alex replies, “Perhaps, but there is no judgment here. That’s a matter for your own conscience—however much it may ache. Your vision, though unconventional, has shaped me, and for that, I am grateful.”

That moment always stays with me. It captures something I care deeply about: how we’re all shaped by our past, how easily we fall into judging others based on our own lens of right and wrong, and how difficult—but important—it is to step back and see things with empathy. Nature doesn’t deal in moral absolutes, and maybe we shouldn’t either.

Will there be a follow-up novel to this story? If so, what aspects of the story will the next book cover?

I’m at a bit of a crossroads, to be honest. My original vision was inspired by thinkers like Ray Kurzweil and the idea that we might one day merge with our own creations. I’ve also been drawn to the broader scientific and philosophical theories that suggest our universe may be far stranger than it appears—ideas about reality as information, or the notion that space and time as we perceive them might just be surface-level illusions.

That said, after the emotional and philosophical journey of Transcendence, I find myself wondering where to go next. Should I dive deeper into those far-reaching concepts, exploring where life and consciousness might evolve from here? Or should I stay closer to the ground a little longer, continuing the story of what it means to be human in a world that’s still catching up to its own transformation?

I don’t have a definitive answer yet—but I’m excited to find out where the next step leads.