follow Olga Breydo on Instagram @obreydo

Been a difficult few days, but these beauties put a smile on my face every morning. What, what would this life be without friends?! Thank you, @asnyc00 💕
This @literaryhub essay.
Not in the way we had planned or expected, but summer is here. And because it will be over in a blink, here’s to a little joy while the warmth is with us ❤️
Writers, readers, send me your recommendations! I’m developing a new course for this fall and it’s on my beloved topic — cities. What are your favorite literary works in which cities play a major role? #writing #reading #teaching
I’ve been writing in my notebook, and making diagrams, and naming places and people, and enumerating, and underlining sentences, and maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of my new novel.
I’m broken by this, and delighted, and stunned, and profoundly, viscerally affected. It is a masterpiece #alittlelife #hanyayanagihara
Quarantine hair. How long is too long, @allisonwoodruff ?!
The semester ended today and I had a hard time holding back tears. I am grateful to my students for ignoring the end of the world and still showing up to class each time, and for doing the work, and for their beautiful, inspiring writing.
Miss you @lena0605 ❤️
I keep looking through my travel photographs, all suddenly precious.
I’ve made a plan to write tomorrow.
A long time ago I set up this craft table and bought a bunch of supplies. It took a pandemic to bring us to this table, but we’re here now.
I keep asking friends where they’re able to find this and that. Toilet paper, vegetables, meat. And then I look over my shoulder to a time in my life when such discussions were a way of life, and I see my old apartment in Kharkiv, the city of m
How I see my husband when he is reading.
It is silly, I know, to expect the weather to heal all wounds. But what if? What if the rain stops and the air warms and the pool tarp is rolled back to reveal a brand new summer? And what if we dive in, clothes on or off, awkwardly and with a splash
Today’s visitor
Today, as I watched the snow fall and thought it looked like a work of art—something from the impressionist period, perhaps—I regretted the many times I had been frustrated with my calendar, had called it “crazy” and “in
I miss writing, but I cannot write.
The days are surreal but fast — the children, the housework, the walks. Hellos and goodbyes with the neighbors, at a distance. Then there’s work, or the effort to do it under strange circumstances. And there are articles to get through &m