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Congratulations on being shortlisted for the 2026 ABIA for Matt Richell Award for New Writer of the Year! What does being shortlisted mean to you and what can you share about your book Melaleuca?
I often think back to a younger version of myself – sitting on a train, on a cold, rainy Melbourne morning on my way to work in the city – dreaming about writing a book and toying with titles. I wish I could tell her: It’s going to happen. People will enjoy reading your story. I remember texting my older sister, who was in Beirut at the time, and saying, ‘I’m writing a book. It’s called The Paperbark Trees.’ I’d only written a few pages, but I was busting to tell someone, and ever supportive, she replied, ‘Yeah!! Do it.’
The story has come a long way since then. It’s called Melaleuca, and follows an Aboriginal detective, Renee Taylor, who returns to her hometown to care for her mother. On the second day back, a local resident discovers the body of an unidentified Aboriginal woman by the creek, and Renee is assigned to the case. As she investigates, she uncovers a link to a missing persons case from thirty years earlier, taking us back to a time when Aboriginal people were living in extreme poverty on the fringes of Queensland towns in camps known as yumbas.
What inspired you to begin a writing career?
I didn’t write much creatively growing up. I was encouraged to pursue practical, stable career paths – which I don’t resent, I’d probably offer similar advice to young writers today. But when the idea for a story came, it felt like something opened, and suddenly my imagination had somewhere to go. Writing became a way to communicate things I sometimes struggled to express every day. It was as if I could say, ‘Let me show you what I mean,’ through characters, tension, and story. It allowed me to explore nuance and complexity – how people think, feel, and make decisions. Storytelling is my way of making sense of the world.
I was also drawn to the idea of a writing life – browsing bookshops, writing in cafes, reading novels – all in the name of work.
And I think writing suits me too. There’s a sense of relief in having found this craft.
What do you know now that you wish you’d known at the start of your career?
Publishing moves at an incredibly unpredictable pace. You can feel invisible for years, waiting for opportunities, and then suddenly everything changes. The attention arrives all at once, and it’s exciting, exhausting and dizzying.
And then … the quiet returns.
I’ve found that challenging because I value routine and predictability, but I’m learning to work in a way that respects both the demands of the industry and my own creative rhythms. I honour my commitments, but I also hold onto my sense of agency – trusting that stories will come in their own time. Because ultimately, the stories are what matters.
Occasionally I’m sent free books from publishers seeking endorsements, and that is a perk I didn’t see coming.
I’m still early in my career, and there is a great deal left to learn. I know I can’t be naïve about some of the industry realities – sales, deadlines and the looming presence of new technologies – but I hope to still be approaching the work with curiosity and a sense of optimism as I continue to grow as a writer.
Which Australian authors or illustrators have been influential for you?
One of the first books I vividly remember reading was The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough when I was about thirteen. I loved the forbidden romance – completely absorbing. Not long after, I read April Fool’s Day by Bryce Courtenay, which deeply moved me. I still remember his description of sunlight breaking through clouds as fingers of God. I also loved John Marsden’s Tomorrow series – probably more age appropriate for a high school student, and incredibly relatable in its portrayal of teenage characters.
Growing up, I didn’t encounter many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander writers, but that changed in my late twenties when I read Anita Heiss’ Am I Black Enough for You? For the first time, I felt seen. From then, I found writers like Tony Birch and Melissa Lukashenko. Their work explores identity, displacement and loss, as well as the joy of community, which I found really comforting.
Given my interests in crime and human behaviour, I eventually began writing crime myself, and now I’m part of a wonderful community of Aussie crime writers. We’re all intrigued by the dark undercurrents of society, but you’d never guess it when we’re together – it’s like we get all our morbid intrigues out on the page, and then go nerd out and have fun at our writerly events.
Why are you a member of the ASA?
Publishing can feel a bit like the wild west at times, so the ASA plays a vital role in advocating for authors and being a voice of reason. It sets benchmarks for fair pay and conditions, provides guidance and legal support, and creates opportunities for learning and connection. I refer to the resources on the website at least once a week.
I’m very grateful to be a member, not just for what it offers me as an emerging author, but for the broader work it does in supporting writers to create authentic, thoughtful, well-researched works. Australia wouldn’t have such a vibrant literary community without the ASA.
Find out more about Angie Faye Martin at angiefaye.net.
