Selected works
Stage
SNAKEFACE | writer & performer | premiered at Belvoir St Theatre in 2025 | publishing with Playlab Theatre in 2027
SHORTLISTED, Nick Enright Prize for Playwriting, NSW Literary Awards, 2026
SHORTLISTED, UTS Glenda Adams Award for New Writing, NSW Literary Awards, 2026
RUNNER-UP, Australian Theatre Festival NYC New Play Award, 2024
NOMINEE, FBi SMAC Award for Theatre, 2025
NOMINEE, Sydney Theatre Award for Best Newcomer, 2025
“A hugely impressive, hugely affecting work.” - Sydney Morning Herald, 5-star review
“A work of striking originality.” - Nick Enright Prize for Playwriting judges’ comments
Martyrpiece* | writer | in development
RECIPIENT, Performance Space’s Stephen Cummins Residency, 2024
RECIPIENT, Sydney Opera House & Performance Space’s Create Space Residency, 2025
Screen
Consume | short film, writer & director | 2024
OFFICIAL SELECTIONS INCLUDE:
St. Kilda Film Festival, Byron Bay Film Festival (Nominee - Young Australian Filmmaker of the Year Award), Art Gallery of NSW & Sydney Mardi Gras’ Queer Art After Hours, Brooklyn Horror Film Festival, Fantastic Film Festival Australia, Melbourne Queer Film Festival, GAZE LGBTQIA+ Film Festival
The Swell | short film, writer | in development
WINNER, Queer Screen x Screen Australia Gender Matters Taskforce Professional Development Prize
Page
Short fiction
Firedaddy | October 2026 | Kill Your Darlings
“Daddy was a good man. I knew that, and I knew about prayer. I still knew that, in the salt of the island, me in the water and his coffin on fire. I didn’t know about the blaze till I knew it. His body was all the way gone on the mainland. It was flames shooting out the ground into the sky, like black oil back when the dirt could give poor men riches. And when they found the spark, it was Daddy’s heart. But that’s me getting ahead of myself.
Daddy always smelled like booze and girls, and he was our only real chance at salvation. He never slammed them to the table like dinner. It weren’t that shaking appetite they been telling you about. The word he always used was excision; he’d rid those girls of their rotting parts.”
Read the full story HERE.
Birth of the Author | September 2026 | The Baffler
“This is how it happens. Billboards, first. Not the city kind; long grass on rural roads and thick fresh Arial letters on white. After that, mountains. Carved into out-of-reach rock faces or caught in the belly of a eucalypt tree like a long-forgotten magic trick, only to be spilled or swept out with the oxblood kino, perhaps to solidify in crystals along the width of the wound; a sentence for the bull ants and the redbacks, at least.
So. To start: a story. Perhaps a novel. Perhaps a great one, the sort that belongs on those lists that everybody hates, one hundred books you have to read before you die, but, in truth, we are not quite there yet.”
Read the full story HERE.
Fanatics | July 2026 | Strange Pilgrims
“The sound of the siren, and then girls were just meat. It was droning, like a firetruck, only made of her voice; her cigarette-singed lace-made melody. I’d been in line for eight hours when the frenzy hit. I was in red ballet flats, ribbon to my knees. Still, I ran. Beside me: carabiner bleeding keys, dye-stripped jeans, skinned shins, bleached pits, bloody nose; we ran, ran. We ran.”
Read the full story HERE.
The age of again | June 2026 | Island 178
“Her first resurrection was our city’s first Jesus. There’s nothing quite like the swell of a born-again star. Ife dealt with dying lots before she ever went and did it: she was a hairdresser, and a good one – fingers flying like a spinning wheel – and she sometimes spent her empty hours braiding blacks into greys at the funeral home. She didn’t mind it. Not the pressure, or the solitude, or the smell of souring melon. Ife wasn’t perfect, but she was patient. She could deal with the waiting. Her favourite way to work was in silence, pupils slipping between bigness and smallness with no rhyme or reason. Often, with clients, both the deceased and the living, she was quiet in a way that straddled peace and bitterness, jaw biting hard lines into the youth of her face.”
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