Recently published work and award nomination!

I’m honoured to be nominated for a Trans Community Award in Brisbane!

MX 2019 Award:

This award recognizes being seen within the community, being approachable and raising awareness of the visibility of the trans, gender diverse, non-binary, sistergirl and brotherboy communities by their actions.

Voting is now open!

 

In other news, I’ve recently had 3 non-fiction pieces published in Archer Magazine, Sydney Review of Books and the brand new Wellbeing Wild Magazine.

“…storytelling always has me glowing with adrenaline as if, all at once, I’ve done twenty sit-ups, eaten chocolate and kissed my crush.”

they as they
visible and voice
listening and
listen and listen

Aside from house decorating and exploring haunted forests, Free Realms also had a significant impact on the way I perceived, and performed, my gender identity.

 

I also wrote a poetry board game called Architype with Ray Cox from [insert quest here], a real play RPG podcast. Grab a copy of the game on itch.io!

A Poetry Game.

Explore houses with your friends.

Build rooms out of prose.

Make architectural poetry

together.

 

Finally, my short story ‘Bodies Needed’ is part of an audio series ‘Urban Internet Myths’ at Digital Writers’ Festival 2019! Check it out here.

EPISODE 1: BODIES NEEDED, BY RAE WHITE
A temporary reception job at a funeral home takes a turn for the permanent.

 

Logo of a person's face with hair that reads the Rachel Funari Prize for Fiction

The Body Remembers on Lip Mag

‪My short story The Body Remembers is now available to read online a Lip Mag, along with a Q&A. This story placed second in the Rachel Funari Prize for Fiction!

***Read the story and Q&A here**

(Best viewed landscape on your phone or on a computer.)‬

Here’s a little example of the Q&A:

What does this year’s theme, ‘fragments’ mean to you?
In The Body Remembers this theme is reflected in the fragmentation of memory and how those memories are recaptured and reclaimed by the body: the fractured self as snippets of recollection and body-memory.

And an example of the story itself:

Your words are spliced and springing half-form from your slim-line mouth: Pink gutters. Clogged walls. Lichen lichen blanket. We don’t have the cruelty to wake you and tell you the house on Pearl St no longer exists, pink-painted walls knocked down in the ’90s to make space for a high rise. It’s okay, we chitter like a chorus of budgerigars. We pull the stiff standard-issue blanket up to your neck; tuck it neatly behind your shoulder bones. It’s okay.