Her debut novel, The Upwelling, sold out before it had even been released. Lystra Rose takes us on a deep dive into the rich networks of history and relationships that helped bring this groundbreaking story to life.

Where did the inspiration for The Upwelling come from?

I was out surfing at Kirra Point (Gold Coast) and thought, What did this place look like before the highways and high-rises? Then I had this idea: What if an Indigenous girl raised in the Western way could somehow experience life before colonisation by catching a barrel and time-slipping? The protagonist is named Kirra because of where I first had that idea.

I thought, Wouldn’t it be great if people read a great story—plot, characters—and at the end, they just learnt culture because they were immersed in it? It wasn’t forced, taught, or preached. Instead, it was a by-product of simply reading this story in the comfort of their own homes. I could infuse “culture” in a culturally safe place for non-Indigenous people.

No novels written by First Nations people were at school when I grew up. I wrote my book so it could be in schools. So our Indigenous viewpoint, our voice, could be shared and be represented in print. My hope is that The Upwelling will be used in English classes.

How did you find the writing process?

I wrote most of The Upwelling here on the Gold Coast (at 4 a.m. every day). It’s a quiet time where my thoughts can “pinball” uninterrupted. I wrote a chapter up in Kabi Kabi Country when I handfed dolphins to study and research them for one of my main characters, Narn, who’s a dolphin caller in my book. I’ve spoken to many of the local Kombumerri people and researched heaps.

My greatest worry was and is “cultural protocol”, that is, writing this book the right way or the “relational” way—getting permission to share knowledge and do it according to our lore. That’s why story writing as an Indigenous person takes the time it needs. Cultural protocols cannot be rushed, and developing relationships takes time without agendas. That foundation must be there before you can ask to receive and share knowledge. And you must be willing to hear “no”. So I tried to come up with options. For example, I could use Wollumbin or sacred mountain.

Upwelling is when the winds push surface water away from the shore, and deeper, coooler water rises to fill the gap. It’s noticeable in summer; the sand could be scorching, but the temp plummets to 17 degrees because the Northerlies were blowing all week, pushing the warm water away from the shore.

How did your fellowship with black&write! impact on the story and your writing process?

The year after I had the idea for The Upwelling, when I wondered if I was even capable of writing a novel, I won the black&write! Fellowship. The State Library’s CEO Vicki McDonald’s said: “The judges praised The Upwelling as a highly original coming-of-age story, unlike anything they had ever read.”

After I got over the initial shock and stress of photos and announcements at QLD’s State Library, followed by an ABC radio interview and Courier Mail feature, it felt like confirmation that I was actually a writer. It also opened the door to The Upwelling being published by Hachette.

Since participating in the Fellowship, I strongly believe there needs to be more Indigenous editors as well as writers. It’s great to discuss cultural protocols with other Indigenous people. They have an insight that non-Indigenous editors cannot possess because of our unspoken cultural protocols and belief systems.

To get good grades at school and university, I had to write the Western way, with Western characters, philosophies, ideas, and humour.

Writing this novel, with support from the black&write! team and other Indigenous artists, allowed me to write in my authentic voice, style, using Indigenous mannerisms and humour. It freed my mind to write “our way” and allowed me to experiment in a way I’d never been able to before.

The world of The Upwelling is infused with Yugambeh culture and language, but you’ve taken care not to overexplain—could you take us through your process for creating such an immersive world and how you represent it on the page?

Thank you—what a compliment! I wanted to introduce the beauty of Indigenous culture and show that it’s not one culture but many cultures. This can be complicated as there are many shared or “same- same” customs in each tribe.

For example, in both Indigenous and Torres Strait Islander cultures, we have totems, so there’s an organised system to care for every living and non-living thing. But there are many customs specific to each nation, for instance, language, Dreaming stories, etc. However, some Dreaming stories can be shared through many nations too.

I loved writing each chapter in first person from each main character’s point of view, and this made it easier to not “overexplain” things because the reader is immersed in the character’s world, culture, and viewpoint. I journaled as Kirra. I read everything about dolphins—how else could I show how Narn would act if he carried that knowledge? And I drew many experiences to form who Tarni is. I read the entire manuscript from each character (one at a time) to make sure each voice was unique and within their character arcs.

I’ve also been blessed to go on Indigenous artists’ camps, where I traditionally made fire, stone knives, prepared and painted with ochre, rolled and wove with string, and folded Piccabeen baskets (and everything else in the book).

...I wrote my book so it could be in schools. So our Indigenous viewpoint, our voice, could be shared...

Are Kirra, Narn, and Tarni based on real-life people or events? Where did these characters come from, and what inspired their unique powers?

Again, as authors, we write from what we know as it’s truth’s baseline. Kirra is based on many actual events that have happened.

A lot of Indigenous people have visions or dreams that come true—myself included. So many of Kirra’s dreams are based on real-life experiences and similar events.

Narn’s attributes are a little more complicated. Again, drawn from realities but explained in a different way. He’s a mixture of many Indigenous men in my life (father, uncles, cousins, brothers, grandparent’s horizontal line, Elders, etc.). The name Wanjellah (and elements of his humour) came from my dad. “Wanem” in Ailan Tok (or Torres Strait Islander Creole) means “what”. But Dad used to muck around and say “wanjellah” instead of “wanem”.

I thought it’d be a perfect name and a nod to Dad. He was a little shocked when I told him but secretly a little chuffed.

There’s a Kombumerri man who is a natural at languages, which was more confirmation after I’d written the story. Many Indigenous people, especially in the Torres Strait, speak numerous languages. I met a Torres Strait Islander lady who spoke eight different languages. Some people just have a natural gift for languages.

Regarding Tarni, when I was nine, Mum visited a church that had Deaf people in the congregation. Hearing people sat on one side, and Deaf people reliant on the interpreter sat on the other. We were unaware of this, so we sat on the Auslan (Australian Sign Language) side. I’d never been introduced to signing, but Mum said she looked over, and I was signing all the songs. Later in Bamaga (when I was in Year 11), a Deaf girl enrolled in our school, and none of the teachers knew how to sign or seemed interested in helping this Year 11 student. Mum had a signing dictionary, so I taught myself sign language and interpreted for her in every class. I went to uni and became a Teacher of the Deaf and interpreter.

Stories must be based on elements of truth, so we can draw out emotive responses and dig at the crux of human nature: hopes, dreams, overcoming disappointments and despair. Part of that hope is remembering all people need to nourish their physical, emotional and spiritual bodies.

Life, like the waves I surf, has crests and troughs. We need all three elements well-nourished to find peace in the stormiest situations. For me, it’s embracing the fear (of big waves, sharky waters, or uncomfortable challenges) to ride the greatest wave to date. Then do it again tomorrow, and the next day, until I develop a “muscle memory” of courage and strength in my emotional/spiritual/physical being.

Some days, I wipe out, being held underwater—wondering if my breath will last—or swim to what I hope is the surface of the sea, and acknowledge I have no control and am a drop in a vast ocean. Yet, I will try again tomorrow, and I hope my words and actions impact others to catch their best wave.

Is it true that you also designed the cover art for The Upwelling?

Yes. That made seeing my book in stores even more surreal, especially as I have never considered myself to be an artist.

What do you hope teen readers will gain from The Upwelling?

I once interviewed pro freesurfer Otis Carey, a Bundjalung/Gumbaynggirr man. I commented on how non-Indigenous Australian culture is meat pies and lamingtons, and he responded that “White Australian culture is Black Australian culture.”

It made me question if I hold on too tightly to my culture (because so much was taken away from us). Yes, we are all First Nations from somewhere—ancestors from here or overseas. But it also made me think of how I could provide a culturally safe place for non-Indigenous Aussies to learn culture and find their connection to Country—to be invited the right way according to our customs.

There are so many non-Indigenous people who stand and walk with us. I’m hoping this book will encourage more to do this.

For educators hoping to discuss The Upwelling in a classroom setting, are there any comparative texts or further reading you would suggest?

I’m stoked there are many excellent books written by Indigenous people.

As I said, I did a lot of research as well as cultural consultations with the local Yugambeh-speaking clans of this region. My reference list is long (too long for this section). I can put it on my website.

Teaching notes for The Upwelling can also be downloaded there.

...Stories must be based on elements of truth, so we can draw out emotive responses and dig at the crux of human nature...

Is there more in store for Kirra, Narn and Tarni?

Being a debut novelist, I didn’t realise that though I took five years to write The Upwelling, people would immediately read it and ask for the next book.

I’ve planned and researched Book 2 and 3 (The N’gian Chronicles), and I’m writing Book 2: The Upwarping.

I hope it will be completed much more quickly, but the story’s not done until it’s done. So please, be patient and thank you for allowing me to write and re-write and re-write and re-write and ... you get the gist.