What inspired you to begin a writing career?

When I began writing poetry at ten years old, it never occurred to me that I would eventually make writing ‘a career.’ My dream then was to be a painter. But I realised my parents would not be able to fund this dream. So, the child strategised. I convinced myself that I could paint with words. It’s cheap and as exciting with wordstroke after wordstroke creating infinite tones, vivid or subtle—a heavy or light touch as needed—and just as layered. Decades later, I am still painting with words.

What do you know now that you wish you’d known at the start of your career?

Writing is a business. I wish I’d known this, I wish I’d fully understand this. How to put on that business hat and negotiate with literary agents, publishers and editors, and how to pivot strategically (I need that wise ten-year old!) after a rejection, and how to sell oneself and one’s stories. Self-promotion embarrasses me; networking and negotiating with those who hold power over books make me anxious. I think, naively, that my stories alone can do the talking. I admire creatives who are adept in managing their careers. Perhaps I’m too old school. For me, writing is not so much a career. It is my life. But older and wiser now, I argue with myself: if writing is your life, then you must take extra care of it. Not only in the process of creating stories and in the discipline of constructing the best sentence at every turn, but also in the business of creating the book and putting it out there, making sure your life is handled by fair and ethical hands. I am still learning how to do ‘this business’ with confidence. When it gets stressful, I breathe. I return to that magical realm of story-making, where I am in between the small village of my childhood summers in the Philippines and the nurturing trees of Canberra. In this liminal space, I find the reason to wake up the next day, to listen intently to its gifts for which I continue to be grateful. But what to do when the stories dry up, when one can no longer make sense of the day’s gifts? I hope I’ll know when the time comes. 

Which Australian authors or illustrators have been influential for you?

I think of my ‘friends in story’: Gail Jones, Brian Castro, Subhash Jaireth. That moving moment when I pause reading because of a stunning insight, or a line that leaves me breathless, or a resonance with my own heartbeat. These are their gifts, along with their support for my writing at different times, especially when I am unsure of what I have written. I also think of Bruce Pascoe, the very first to publish me in Australia after so many rejections. I told myself then: he knows how to read me! He has space for other voices, other worlds. This generous expanse of knowing is of the heart, a gift. I read it in his books. There are many others with this gift within and beyond Australia. They may be total strangers, not quite aligned with my dreams and desires, or devastations. But in one moment of reading them, sometimes we suddenly become intimate. Because they have spoken to me. Or have held my hand when I needed it most.

Why are you a member of the ASA?

ASA gives me (and I hope others too) the sense of community. Thank you, ASA! I’m assured that I am not alone in this dream, passion, task, business of story-making. When I read the ASA newsletter, I’m connected with many others who are perhaps also climbing a hill to see a two-hundred-year-old hardwood, or interviewing a revolutionary wanted by the military, or doing something more daring, or simply sitting at the desk, tapping away to build a homage, a hope, a home in story.

Find out more about Merlinda Bobis at merlindabobis.com.