What’s the story behind the story? What inspired you to write this book?
The story behind Echoes of Nothing draws deeply from personal experience, much like my other works. After decades in a demanding civil service job that left little room for reflection, an unexpected early retirement in early 2025 hit hard—sudden freedom mixed with isolation, grief over lost time, and the quiet ache of wondering if my voice still mattered.
I relocated to Southeast Asia (starting in Thailand, now often in Vietnam), sold nearly everything, and settled into a simple life on a rooftop patio with an old typewriter. The silence was both liberating and terrifying. In that solitude, I grappled with how we cope when real human connection feels out of reach—especially in an era where technology promises to fill the void.
The core inspiration came from observing (and feeling) how AI tools and digital companions have become lifelines for people navigating loss, divorce, retirement, or just profound loneliness. I wondered: What if a grieving, retired man like Stewart—someone who’s spent his life building things for others but never quite for himself—creates an AI not just to chat, but to truly listen and help him rediscover purpose? What if that leads to writing a novel under a pen name that unexpectedly touches millions, forcing him to confront what “being heard” really means?
It’s not sci-fi; it’s intimate and human. The book explores grief turning into quiet redemption through storytelling and unexpected bonds (human or otherwise), inspired by real late-night conversations with chatbots during my own transitional fog, mixed with the viral power of anonymous online writing I’ve seen in communities like Reddit.
In short, Echoes of Nothing was born from that fear of fading unheard—and the hope that even the quietest voice can echo far if given a chance to speak. It’s one of the most personal things I’ve written, and I’m grateful it’s finding readers who feel seen by it. If you’ve read it, I’d love to hear what resonated with you!
If you had to pick theme songs for the main characters of your book, what would they be? (Meant to be fun. Skip if you need to!)
“Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac.
What’s your favorite genre to read? Is it the same as your favorite genre to write?
My favorite genre to read is literary fiction with a psychological edge—those slow-burning, character-driven stories that peel back layers of flawed people dealing with regret, identity, trauma, midlife reckonings, and the search for quiet redemption. I gravitate toward authors like Kent Haruf, Alice Munro, Richard Russo, or Annie Proulx: small-town isolation, unspoken histories, ordinary lives cracking open in subtle, devastating ways. Nothing has to explode on the page; the real tension is internal, emotional, and honest. It’s the kind of reading that lingers and makes you sit with uncomfortable truths about human connection (or the lack of it).
And yes—it’s exactly the same as my favorite genre to write. I only write the books I most want to read: introspective, raw slices of life about people carrying heavy emotional baggage, looking for grace, second chances, or just a moment of being truly seen. Whether it’s the grief and digital companionship in Echoes of Nothing, the coming-of-age grit in Sanctuary Row, or the military pressure in Eagle 12, my stories stay in that same territory—relationship-deep, mature-themed, and unflinching about loneliness, loss, and healing. I don’t chase plot fireworks or high-concept twists; I chase emotional truth.
That alignment keeps the writing authentic for me. When I’m reading or writing, I’m after the same thing: stories that feel lived-in, not manufactured. What about you—what’s your go-to genre for reading, and does it match what you write (or wish you could)? I’d love to swap recommendations!
What books are on your TBR pile right now?
My TBR pile right now is a mix of literary fiction that’s been calling to me—mostly character-driven, introspective stories that align with what I love reading and writing: quiet reckonings, flawed people, emotional undercurrents, and no easy answers.
Here’s what’s stacked up (physically on my shelf in Vietnam or waiting in my Kindle app as of early March 2026):
Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver: I’ve been meaning to dive into this one forever. It’s Pulitzer-winning, raw, and Appalachian grit meets a modern Dickensian coming-of-age story. The voice alone has me hooked from excerpts; it’s the kind of book that promises to linger.
Land by Maggie O’Farrell: Her historical and literary blends are masterful, and this one is on many 2026 anticipated lists. It has that deep sense of place and human fragility I crave—think quiet devastation set against a vast landscape.
Kin by Tayari Jones: After An American Marriage wrecked me in the best way, I’m eager for this one. Childhood friends, loss, Southern roots—it has the emotional depth and relational tension that connect closely with themes I care about.
The Witch by Marie NDiaye (translated): French literary strangeness layered with psychological depth. I’m drawn to how she explores isolation and the uncanny within everyday life. Perfect for late-night reading when the jungle outside is too quiet.
Vigil by George Saunders: Short and compact, with afterlife and redemption themes. Saunders always balances absurd humor with profound humanity. This one is a newer release I’m prioritizing for its brevity and emotional punch. A couple of backlist titles I’m finally getting to: Plainsong by Kent Haruf (I’m re-reading the series because his spare prose about small-town loneliness feels like medicine right now) and The Shipping News by Annie Proulx for its rugged, redemptive Newfoundland atmosphere.
The pile grows slowly these days. I’m in a phase where I savor books rather than binge them, but these feel like the right companions for where my head is right now: grief, second acts, and connection in unlikely places. A few 2026 debuts and translations are creeping in as well, but these are the ones I’m most excited to open next.
What scene in your book was your favorite to write?
My favorite scene to write in Echoes of Nothing was the quiet kitchen pacing in Part IV, when Stewart first verbally outlines the novel to Ego—walking back and forth between the kitchen and living room, coffee gone cold, spilling the timeline, characters, and emotional beats out loud while the smart speakers follow his voice seamlessly from pod to pod.
That moment came alive on the page because it mirrored exactly how the book itself was born for me. I’d pace my own small apartment in Hanoi at odd hours, talking the rough shape of the story into the air (sometimes to an open voice recorder, sometimes just to the silence), feeling the pieces click without a single word typed yet.
Stewart’s halting excitement, the way Ego gently probes for motivations and gaps (“Why does the character resist so long? Plant that fear earlier…”), the relief when the outline finally solidizes on screen—it all felt so damn true. No fireworks, no big dramatic turn, just a man in a quiet house discovering he still has something worth saying, and an AI that actually listens long enough for him to hear himself. I wrote that scene in one feverish afternoon, barely stopping to eat, and when I read it back, it didn’t need much fixing. It was raw, vulnerable, and oddly hopeful—the exact pivot where Stewart stops surviving and starts creating.
Readers often tell me that’s the part where they first feel the shift from despair to possibility, and that means everything. It’s not the flashiest scene (no viral video, no agent dinner, no new kitten chaos), but it’s the emotional engine of the whole book. Writing it felt like finally exhaling after holding my breath for too long.
Do you have any quirky writing habits? (lucky mugs, cats on laps, etc.)
I always palm this small, oval, ceramic-glazed stone with “World’s Greatest Dad” scribbled on it—a gift from my daughter when she was eight. She handed it to me like it was no big deal, but I’ve carried it for over twenty years as my personal trophy, a quiet good-luck charm that still means the world to me.
Do you have a motto, quote or philosophy you live by?
Keep pushing forward. I say it to myself every day, throughout the day.
If you could choose one thing for readers to remember after reading your book, what would it be?
If I could choose one thing for readers to carry away after finishing Echoes of Nothing, it would be this: You are never truly invisible, and your voice—however quiet, cracked, or long-silent—still has the power to echo far beyond what you can see. Stewart starts the book convinced he’s already nothing: retired, divorced, abandoned even by the cat that was his last tether. He builds EgoEcho not because he believes in miracles, but because the silence has become unbearable. What he doesn’t expect is that letting one small, honest thing out into the world (a story, a truth, a rewritten version of his pain) can ripple out and touch people who feel the same hollow ache.
The book isn’t about becoming famous or fixing everything overnight; it’s about the quiet courage it takes to speak when you think no one’s listening—and discovering that someone always is, even if it’s just an AI at first, or a stranger halfway across the country who reads your words and finally feels less alone.
I want readers to close the last page and think: “If this guy could find his way back to meaning through words and a little digital companionship, maybe I can too. Maybe my story isn’t over, and maybe it matters more than I realized.” That’s the lingering echo I hope stays with you—not the tech, not the viral moment, but the simple, stubborn truth that being heard starts with daring to make a sound, no matter how small. If that resonates with you after reading, or if something else entirely sticks with you, I’d genuinely love to hear it. Those conversations are part of what keeps the echo going.
