Sarah O'Connor

Writer – Playwright – Cannot Save You From The Robot Apocalypse

“A woman walks down the street and a man tells her to smile. When she smiles, she reveals a mouthful of fangs. She bites off the man’s hand, cracks the bones and spits them out, and accidentally swallows his wedding ring, which gives her indigestion,” (Kirby, “A Few Normal Things That Happen A Lot, 7).

Gwen E. Kirby’s short story collection Shit Cassandra Saw is a treasure trove of unique stories. From historical figures to cockroach women, one-star reviews and “how to” articles, to tropes of women who are tired of appearing in fiction Kirby’s anthology says it all. Shit Cassandra Saw is a collection of feminist stories that are sharp, funny, and aching, filled with women who are tired of hurting, tired of being victims, and who are ready to fight back and be the protagonist.

Read my thoughts on all of the stories in the collection below: Continue reading

“It is a beautiful mask, but all masks fall. In the end,” (Shannon 36).

After being tortured by Scion, Paige Mahoney is sent to a safe house in the Scion Citadel of Paris with her former enemy but now partner, the Rephaim Arcturus Mesarthim. The mysterious Domino program, which has saved her, has plans of their own for Paige, but Paige has other tasks she wants to accomplish, like searching through the catacombs of Paris and glittering halls of Versailles. It’s risky, but Paige has always been a risktaker, and if she succeeds with the Parisian underworld she could escalate the rebellion and grow The Mime Order. But Scion’s power widens threatening to take over as many free countries as possible, and Paige is still recovering from her memories of torture at the hands of Scion while trying to figure out the strange bond between her and Arcturus that grows stronger each day. Revolution is growing, and Paige has to fight hard to survive each day to keep it burning. Continue reading

Surprise!!! I found this out way back in January but have kept it secret for so long, but my short play Dead Serious won Rad[io] Shorts Scriptwriting contest and has been performed and posted on Spotify!

Listen to it below, and check out these talented actors! Thanks to Kyle Billie and the amazing cast for giving literal voices to this little show.

“Marsh is not swamp. Marsh is a space of light, where grass grows in water, and water flows into the sky. Slow-moving creeks wander, carrying the orb of the sun with them to the sea, and long-legged birds lift with unexpected grace – as though not built to fly – against the roar of a thousand snow geese,” (Owens 3).

After her family one by one leaves their shack on the marsh, Kya Clark finds her self alone, working hard to survive. Shy and uneasy around others, Kya is judged at a young age by the people of Barkley Cove who view her as swamp trash, eventually giving her the name “Marsh Girl” and creating rumours about her. And while Kya finds comfort in the creatures that inhabit the march and knows how to live an isolated life, she yearns to connect and be with people. When two men become intrigued by her beauty and wild nature Kya slowly begins to open herself up until tragedy strikes. Continue reading

As you may have seen around here, I’ve been reading a lot of poetry. Well, not a lot I guess, but a lot for me. Since April is National Poetry Month, I wanted to push myself to read the poetry books I have. I tend to mainly read fiction, and one of my resolutions this year was to read more non-fiction, plays, and poetry. Maybe it was cheating saving all the poetry books I had for April. Truthfully I didn’t do much research into other poetry books or branch out from what was on my shelves. But it’s a start, right? Continue reading

“This is the strange lesson of living in a pandemic: life can be tranquil in the face of death,” (St. John Mandel 195).

Eighteen-year-old Edwin St. Andrew comes to Canada after disgracing his family during a family dinner. He finds himself exploring a Canadian forest when he suddenly hears a few notes of a violin and strange hydraulic noises before the vision is gone, quickly explained away as a hallucination. Two centuries later, author Olive Llewllyn is on Earth for a book tour, far from her home on the second moon colony, the moment Edwin experienced curiously appears in the text of her famous pandemic novel Marienbad. Meanwhile, a detective in the Night City, Gaspery-Jacques Roberts, is hired to investigate an anomaly with the Time Institute with strict orders to investigate a Canadian forest and a young man, a famous author, and how it is their stories connect. Continue reading

“Religion, I believe, is one of the ways we attempt to answer the two Great Questions that ache within us all: ‘how shall we live,’ and ‘what happens when we die,'” (Bernstein 11).

Since Midnight Mass came out last fall I’ve watched it four times with no plans of stopping anytime soon. I haven’t watched all of Flannagan’s films, was skeptical of The Haunting of Hill House because of how far it strayed from the source material but ended up loving it, adored The Haunting of Bly Manor even though I can never watch it again without crying like a baby, and loved his adaption of Stephen King’s Doctor Sleep. Continue reading

“There are strange things done in the midnight sun
      By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
      That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
      But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
      I cremated Sam McGee,”
– The Cremation of Sam McGee (Service).
Before I travelled to the Yukon I had wanted to read this collection as a preparation of sorts but eventually decided against it. Instead, I found a bookstore near my hotel in Whitehorse that had many collections of Songs of a Sourdough to choose from and that’s how I chose mine.

Continue reading

“I

dislike cute cat

poems

but I’ve written one

anyhow,”

– my cat, the writer (Bukowski 83).

I wasn’t sure what to expect from Charles Bukowski’s On Cats, the name Bukowski was only a vaguely familiar in my mind, but I adore Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats and figured another poetry collection literally “On Cats” would be to my liking when I was gifted it one year for my birthday. Luckily my friend was right, you just can’t go wrong writing about cats.
Continue reading

“they bisect the frozen river,

vacant lots,

the barren school field —

all roads lead

to the Pit.”

– Desire Paths (Borin 3).

I was lucky enough to get to visit The Westminster Hotel, or as it’s affectionately called The Pit, when I visited Dawson City last fall. When my dad had visited the previous winter he talked about a place who’s only food was a “revolving case of hotdogs,” and after doing my research and finding out that The Pit was in fact the same place it became important to me to visit, a pink staple to this small northern town, even more so when I learned of Borin’s poetry collection. Continue reading