Memoir

‘I convinced myself that my body was not mine to keep. That it was something I was borrowing from the earth.’

Read a winner of the KYD Creative Non-Fiction Prize 2025!

My manuscript won a big prize and increased the pressure for literary success. But I had to put it—and me—out of its misery.

A tragic accident forced me to reckon with the father-shaped hole in my life.

Ma protect me. As I try to get back to you.

Like a stockwhip, Blak realities crack through the fictions of Australia’s colonial identity.

Is it possible to balance a creative life with a day job?

How off-brand Ozempic led me into a state of pharmacological nirvana.

In Melbourne’s queer dating scene, I face the pitfalls of trying to integrate all of one’s sexual connections into a cohesive social experience.

I learned the hard way that more needs to be done to prevent AFL head injuries.

My fashion writing is fuelled by a passion for ethical clothing but also a family legacy that has sustainability at its heart.

A chance encounter with a kangaroo draws me to the page.

Growing up, my Wiradjuri heritage lingered in the background, just out of reach. Writing my first novel helped me connect to my ancestors, culture and language.

Our friendship deepened in both the real world and the imagined worlds of our writing. Nearly five years after her death, I still find myself holding grief, hope and her only novel close.

In the winner of the KYD Creative Non-Fiction Prize 2023, life seems a blurred line of consequences.

When you write personally about intimate subjects, you expect to feel embarrassed. But I wasn’t prepared for the feelings of shame and raw vulnerability induced by crafting fiction.

As an international student, I have been stuck in a strange kind of purgatory—trying to build a life and a home in Australia, while struggling to feel secure in a system built on temporariness.

I don’t know how to teach a child that their skin colour is going to test them, hurt them and empower them all through their life. I know they would grow up surrounded by love, laughter and connection to Country, but they will also have to be brave in a world that will assume the worst about them.

The placenta is among the least understood of all human organs—both a fascinating symbol of immunology and nourishment, and a messy reminder that our bodies are not completely our own.

Through a dedicated program for First Nations writers and editors, I was given the tools—the words—to explain why I looked for myself in stories in which there were no black girls.

I believe in the power of storytelling to pursue justice, voice and agency for First Nations people. Driven by my deep personal quest for cultural connection and knowledge, I am learning to embrace imagination to fill the spaces that research cannot.

Separated from my beloved grandfather at the end of his life, I turned to cryptic crosswords as a ritual to weave a thread between his life and mine.

My visual arts and writing practices exist in a loop with inspiration running in both directions. What started as intimate, therapeutic processes have become empowering tools for advocacy and agency.

Creativity and mothering are often posited as opposing forces. But in the tedium and euphoria of parenting, writing no longer feels like a self-indulgent distraction but a necessary means of expression.