Does Anja Feliers Have Upcoming Book Or Film Releases?

Stumbling across a bookshelf photo on a friend's feed led me to dig into Anja Feliers' work, and I was surprised to learn her first novel was published in 2015. I dove into reviews, publisher blurbs, and interviews back then, and the debut felt very much of that mid-2010s literary moment—intimate, quietly restless, with characters who mull over small domestic choices that end up meaning a lot. I remember being drawn to how the themes reflected a kind of gentle domestic realism mixed with a subtle psychological edge that suited the tastes I had developed from reading a lot of contemporary European fiction. A few years after that initial read I kept tabs on her trajectory, noticing how the craft sharpened and how she leaned into mood and interiority more boldly in later books. If you like nuanced character studies and writing that lingers in the quieter spaces of life, her 2015 debut is a solid starting point. For me it was the kind of book that lingered on the commute home and made me re-evaluate small scenes in my own life—simple, but quietly satisfying.

Hunting down films with a specific actor can turn into a little treasure hunt, and I actually enjoy the sleuthing — here’s the route I usually take. First, check the big, legal aggregators: JustWatch and Reelgood (or the country-specific equivalents) will tell you if a movie with Anja Feliers is streaming in your region on services like Netflix, Amazon Prime Video (store and subscription), Apple TV/iTunes, Google Play, or YouTube Movies. I always search her name and cross-check the film titles on IMDb or Letterboxd so I don’t miss alternate titles or international spellings. If the films are European, especially Belgian or Dutch-language productions, smaller platforms often carry them: MUBI rotates curated international films, and Kanopy or Hoopla (if you have a participating library card) can surprise you with festival and arthouse selections. For Flemish productions specifically, don’t forget regional broadcasters’ on-demand portals — in Belgium that might show up on local services or their archive players. Lastly, if a title is rare, look for festival VoD platforms (like Festival Scope) or Vimeo On Demand from filmmakers who self-distribute. I once tracked down a quiet indie this way and it felt like finding a secret screen; you’ll probably have the same little thrill when you finally click play.

I get curious about lesser-known creatives and dug into what I could find about Anja Feliers. From everything I’ve read and the bios floating around libraries and festival programs, there aren’t a lot of headlines listing major national or international prizes attached to her name. That doesn’t mean she hasn’t been recognized — I’ve seen mentions of participation in literary events, local readings, and collaborative projects that often come with small-scale honors like jury mentions or festival audience prizes. Those recognitions can be incredibly meaningful in building a career, even if they don’t show up on Wikipedia-style lists. What stands out to me is that a lot of writers and artists rack up important but quiet forms of recognition: residencies, grants, and shortlists for regional prizes. In several contexts where her work appears, people reference positive critical reception and invitations to speak or present — the kind of nods that signal respect in literary circles without always translating into named trophy awards. If you’re diving into her work, those invitations and residencies often say more about an artist’s standing among peers than a single shiny accolade. Personally, I find this kind of career path kind of inspiring. Awards are nice, but steady engagement, festival circuits, and the trust of editors and curators often tell a fuller story. From my perspective, Anja Feliers seems to have the kind of recognition that reads as durable and community-rooted rather than headline-grabbing, which makes me want to seek out her writing even more.

Growing up, I was that kid scribbling scenes on the back of school notebooks and joining any amateur play I could crash into. My route into both writing and acting felt messy and exciting — I started by doing community theater and taking weekend creative-writing workshops, which was this perfect little laboratory where I could test characters out loud and then put them down on paper. I sold my first short piece to a small online magazine after a friend dared me to send it in, and that tiny acceptance changed my confidence more than any critique ever could. From there I bounced between rehearsals and late-night writing sessions. A director from one of those community plays invited me to audition for a short film and I got a small part; being on set showed me how script rhythms breathe when actors find the space in them. That hands-on acting experience fed my prose — I started writing scenes with stage directions in mind, focusing on gestures and pauses. Over a couple of years those short films, festivals, and zine publications built up into steady work: more roles, a few commissioned pieces, and eventually a book-length project that felt like a natural next step. I still think the mingling of both crafts is what lit my path — the vulnerability of performing and the control of writing balanced each other. Watching other actors interpret lines taught me to trust dialogue, and drafting taught me patience. It wasn’t overnight stardom, just a series of small leaps, stubborn rewrites, and the thrill of seeing a scene come alive on stage — and that still lights me up every time.

Her work popped up in a quiet corner of the internet and stuck with me—there’s an intimacy and restraint to Anja Feliers’ projects that feels like eavesdropping on someone arranging a shelf. From what I’ve gathered, she’s a creative who moves between writing and visual work, favoring small-scale, tactile projects: photo series, short essays, and self-published booklets. Her output isn’t brash or splashy; it’s the kind of thing that shows up as a neat pamphlet at a local reading or a soft-spoken exhibition in a tiny gallery. That low-key presence has made her a favourite among readers who like to collect modest, thoughtful works rather than mainstream bestsellers. In terms of notable pieces, she’s best known for a handful of intimate projects that explore memory, domestic spaces, and the fragile details of everyday life. Think photo sequences focused on interiors, short illustrated stories about relationships and place, and a few essays that read like letters—concise, observant, and quietly sharp. She’s also been part of collaborative zines and anthology projects, which suits her sensibility; her contributions often feel like a scene lifted from a notebook rather than a dramatic climax. For me, the charm lies in the way her work rewards slow reading—one returns to the images or paragraphs and notices new textures each time. If you’re into small-press discoveries or collecting modest edition works, Anja’s projects are worth hunting for. They’re the kind of pieces that settle nicely on a shelf next to a worn poetry chapbook or a handbound comic, and every time I pull one out I find something I’d missed before. Honestly, her work has a hush that I find genuinely refreshing—like a conversation at the end of the night that you didn’t want to end.