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The Memory Broker Is Available Now!



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Some stories simmer. Others scream.

The Memory Broker did both.

This one didn’t knock politely at the door of my imagination. It kicked it clean off the hinges and dragged me into the neon-soaked underworld of a future I didn’t even know I had in me.

I was in the middle of writing Wishes of a Mortal Man—a quieter, more grounded project—when the idea for The Memory Broker hit like a jolt from a cracked-out data node. I tried to ignore it. I really did. But some stories don’t wait their turn. This one came armed with chrome teeth and a bad attitude, whispering things like: “What if memory could be bought and sold? What if someone stole the wrong one?”

So I listened.

I shelved Wishes (temporarily, I promise), picked up a pen—yes, a real one, because this all started while I was in rehab, where laptops and phones are locked away like weapons—and started writing. By hand. On paper. With caffeine, insomnia, and raw nerve fueling every scribbled line. Eventually I finished it on my laptop, but what I thought would be a quick little novella turned into something else entirely: a 60,000-word cyberpunk fever dream. The final paperback weighs in at around 230 pages, each one humming with neon static, synthetic sweat, and the low growl of something broken just beneath the surface.

So what the hell is it about?

Iris Kane is the best in the business—a memory broker with a flawless record and a reputation forged in chrome and shadows. In the sprawling, neon-lit city of Vesper, the past is a commodity, and Iris is its most trusted dealer. But when a memory transfer goes violently sideways, she’s left with a fragment in her own head that doesn’t belong to anyone… or maybe it belongs to everyone.

Reality starts to slip. Hallucinations dig their claws in. And Iris finds herself caught in the gears of ChronosCorp, a sinister mega-corporation rumored to be tinkering with something more dangerous than memories: time itself.

What follows is a descent into fractured timelines, digital ghosts, and buried conspiracies. It’s Blade Runner meets Inception, spiked with paranoia and sharpened with existential dread. Because in Vesper, memory is currency, identity is fragile, and truth is the most dangerous construct of all.

I’ve never written anything like this before. It’s loud, fast, brutal. It’s filled with slick tech, shifting realities, and a heroine who doesn’t flinch even when her own mind starts turning against her. But underneath all the flashing lights and fractured time loops, it’s also deeply personal. I wrote this one while rebuilding myself—memory by memory, page by page. That’s not just metaphor.

So yeah, The Memory Broker is out now. It’s weird. It’s wild. It’s sharp enough to cut.

If you like your fiction grimy, glitchy, and impossible to put down, this one’s for you.

And whatever you do… don’t trust everything you remember.


 

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