My work has been published in journals, anthologies, and zines such as Kill Your Darlings, Overland, Verity La, Scum, and Concrescence. My manuscript Barks and the City is currently shortlisted for the 2019 HarperCollins First Nations Fellowship, and my manuscript Why Worry Now was shortlisted for the 2018 Varuna/Copyright Agency First Nations Fellowship and the 2018 Unpublished Indigenous Writer – David Unaipon Award in the Queensland Literary Awards
Here’s a selection of those publications and links to where you can read full versions:
‘Decolonising the Sperm Bank’ (Essay – Kill Your Darlings)
The fertility clinic is like any medical office: bright, clean, and quiet.
Women scroll through their phones, glancing around every so often to size each other up. Single women eye the partnered ones; flat stomached ladies look longingly at those sporting perfect, round baby bumps. Read more…
‘Why I Fear Scott Morrison’s Pentecostalism’ (Essay – Overland Journal)
When I went to bed on the night of the election — early, to escape the growing fear and despair on my social media — I had a knot in my stomach about what I’d wake up to. Read more…
‘The Magpie Man’ (Short Story – Verity La)
The three of us balance on our bikes at the edge of the park. We watch as the man ― old and hunched ― emerges from the little green house, ice-cream bucket in hand. From the trees and the power poles high above, the magpies watch too.
When he dips his hand into the bucket, some of the birds stir. But it isn’t until he’s tossed the seed into the air that they all fly from their perches to feed. It’s a flurry of wings and beaks and black and white. Read more…
‘Alone’ (Memoir – Scum Mag)
I squeeze my left hand into a fist and look away as the phlebotomist tightens the tourniquet and comes towards me with the needle. She pokes around and I wish she’d get on with it. I can’t stop visualising the needle sliding beneath my skin, and I’m sure I can feel her wriggling it around in search of the vein. I blink back the darkness that’s starting to fold across my vision; the threat of fainting is imminent. I’ve been fasting since the night before and my head is roaring from lack of caffeine. Out in the surgery, someone is burning toast, the unmistakable smell somehow makes me hungry and nauseous at the same time. Read more…
‘Clean Sheet Day’ (Poem – Concrescence winter 2019)
are too far away
on your worst day …
‘Bang the Pots and Pans’ (Memoir – Swamp Journal, Issue #22)
My mom died today. The last time I saw her, she was eating ice-cream from the Broadway Dairy Maid and wiping a tissue across the stoma in the base of her throat. We laughed because I offered to share my pistachio-flavoured soft serve. Her reaction was so quick that I knew she hated pistachios without her even needing to speak. Read more…
‘Single Minded’ (Blog post – The University of Queensland Short Hand) for International Women’s Day 2018
Graduate and Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences sessional academic Melanie Saward is a successful writer, singer and academic, but in some circles, she won’t earn society’s respect until she has a husband. Read more…
‘M@tchmaker’ (Fiction – URL Love, online love story anthology)
Rose Smith @aringarosey
Had pub lunch with the girls. Slopped gravy from my chicken schnitzel down white dress. Have v-important meeting this afternoon. Help!
‘Hector the Undead Prince of Troy’ (Fiction –Corrupted Classics, horror anthology)
In the world above, the Trojan royal family sit in their places on the wall and watch in horror as Achilles drags Hector’s body across the gravelly sand to his chariot by just one arm. He pulls so hard that even up on the wall, Hector’s family can hear the sound of his shoulder popping from its joint. Andromache turns her baby son around on her lap, trying to shield him from the sight.
‘#132 – Melanie and the Baby-Sitters’ Club’ (Memoir – Ricochet Magazine – Flashback edition)
She lies on her stomach on the thick white shag pile carpet in my musk-stick pink room. The soles of her feet point up at the popcorn-rough ceiling and her legs are crossed at the ankles. She props herself up on her elbows, her fingers following the lines of text on a book. I’m sitting on my floral bedspread, with a nest of soft toys pushed up into the pillows so I can cross my legs and stare at her. Download the full version here…
‘When the Rock Hit the Window’ (Fiction –Ricochet Magazine – First edition)
When the rock hit the window, The Girl had just spoken to Sam for the first time. In his head, they’d already had hundreds of conversations, but in real life they’d never spoken. All the way from the city, Sam had been trying to think of something they could talk about. But with her sitting beside him, talking about the weather or discussing the egg attacks didn’t seem quite right. By the time they reached Bracken Ridge he’d given up. Download the full version here…