30 June 2026
This is a conversation with Odesa-based writer, screenwriter, and—more recently—actress Olena Andreichikova about profound inner transformations, art as therapy, and the ability to let go of control when chaos reigns.
What does it mean when the body shifts into “theatrical mode”? How did Olena overcome her perfectionism and fear of speaking Ukrainian so she could finally enjoy the thrill of improvising on stage? Why is it time for Ukrainian women to permanently shed the shame and stereotypes imposed by society and start expressing themselves to the fullest?
In this interview, the writer also shares how dark humor and self-irony can help overcome a creative crisis during wartime. She candidly explains why chaos sometimes proves to be more honest than control—and how a die-hard “control freak” comes to terms with this. Finally, Olena puts together a special survival kit consisting of three books that each of us should read right now.
In one of your posts, you wrote that your body has switched to “theatrical mode.” What does that mean for you right now?
It means a great deal. It involves a lot of preparatory work with the director on my play *Kill Karl*, which premiered about a month ago. We spent nearly four months preparing for it. At first, my brain just had to get used to the idea, because for me, this is a real challenge. I’ve never acted on stage before. I’ve read my short stories—yes, of course—but I haven’t acted.
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SCREENSHOT: Intenta’s YouTube channel
At one point, I was going through a whole storm of emotions: first, adrenaline and cortisol, because I was scared—I didn’t know how it would go or if I’d be able to memorize the entire script. Even though it was my own text, I still had to learn it. I was worried about how I’d feel on stage. And then, step by step, I transitioned from fear and stress hormones to a pleasant sense of freedom and ease of movement. It was hard at first, but then it became incredibly enjoyable to observe this new state of my body. My mind did its thing, and my body joined in and responded.
An actor’s benefit performance and a solo appearance on stage are always about vulnerability. Which was more challenging for you: publishing a work of fiction, where the reader is left alone with the text, or stepping onto the stage, where you see the audience’s eyes right here and now?
It’s hard for me to compare, because they’re completely different things. Even the thrill of the process and the preparation are totally different. When I decided to act, I already had some stage experience: presentations, moderating events, readings with actors, or solo performances. This year marks 11 years since I first presented my book. But I had no experience with acting per se.
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SCREENSHOT: Intenta’s YouTube channel
That’s why I can only compare stepping onto the stage to the release of my first book. It’s an unexpected, new experience that requires tremendous preparation. You have to learn new things, overcome your fear, listen to professionals, and pick up their skills. When your second or third book comes out—things work differently then. But a first book and a theatrical premiere are very similar in terms of the intensity of emotions and sensations. And you were spot-on about the vulnerability: you can’t hide. That’s it—you’ve taken the plunge, and you have to do it well. It’s a whirlwind of emotions, but I love that state of mind.
What can theater offer a person during wartime that literature cannot?
When it comes to the audience, first and foremost (and perhaps most importantly), it’s the opportunity to take their minds off things. If what I do on stage helps a person forget, even for a little while, everything that’s happening outside, I consider the goal already achieved. Second, theater gives you a nudge to think, to look within yourself, to reflect on your own experiences. And third, in my opinion, theater always gives you the feeling that you’re not alone. And that’s amazing. Not only are we all physically close to one another in the auditorium, but when our meanings, thoughts, and emotions align—that’s just great.
Which contemporary Odessa writers or poets would you recommend to readers?
Oh, I can recommend many authors from Odesa, especially poets. First of all, there’s Vlada Illinska—she’s simply brilliant. She’s part of the “Naked Poets” group. I recommend them to everyone: if you’re lacking energy or motivation to do something, their poems act like a portal. You read them, feel them, get inspired—and then you keep going. Andriy Khaetskyi, without a doubt.
There are authors who have already moved on, but I still love them dearly. For example, Zhenya Demenok. Anna Mykhalevska—she hasn’t left; she’s an incredible author. Anna Kostenko, Viktor Breivis… We really do have so many great writers; I hope I haven’t offended anyone by forgetting to mention them.
How did you make the transition to writing in Ukrainian? What were the challenges and rewards along the way?
Actually, I’d had a pretty decent command of written Ukrainian since my university days, since I’m a philologist and translator by training. But spoken Ukrainian scared me a little, because I lacked real-life communication practice. Gradually, when my first book came out in 2015 and we started translating, I realized I needed to improve my spoken Ukrainian.
At my first book presentations, I simply memorized my speech word for word. I wanted everything to sound flawless, with the correct stress patterns, and no improvisation at all: I’d speak, deliver the text, and run off. That’s what my perfectionism was like.
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SCREENSHOT: Intenta’s YouTube channel
But by 2022, I realized clearly: I don’t just have to speak beautifully; I have to enjoy the process itself. Because if I’m trembling and afraid of interviews or presentations every time, there’s little joy in it. I wanted to feel good right here and now. So I started practicing—just speaking out loud more, communicating, and not being afraid of making mistakes. It helped a lot. At some point, I caught myself thinking, “Oh, I can already improvise, I can joke around, and I’m not afraid of any questions!” Even if I mixed something up or forgot something. My goodness, you can forget something in any language. That’s okay—I’m a living person. And that’s probably the most important permission I’ve given myself: not to be a perfectionist, but to be alive. Since then, I’ve started to get immense pleasure from the language.
Have any “lucky words” appeared in your vocabulary that help you hang in there?
Quite a bit of profanity has crept in, and, by the way, it helps me stay grounded, too. Previously, my creative writing never contained swear words or obscene language, but since 2022, they’ve started to slip in. It’s not like they’re in every sentence, but they’ve appeared. I just realized that sometimes I lack the ordinary words to express the full range of emotions. Besides, the Ukrainian language has a ton of cool, apt, and ironic expressions. They’re not so much crude as they are emotional and colorful. Something like “Yosyp-bosy” is wonderful because it conveys a mood, brings a smile, and instantly relieves tension.
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SCREENSHOT: Intenta’s YouTube channel
Many artists admit that the war has frozen their ability to create artistic metaphors because reality has become too literal. How has this affected you?
Reality froze my ability to write for several months in early 2022. I didn’t understand at all how I could create my usual cheerful, ironic, lighthearted stories. But as time went on, I began to see the spirit of life in people—especially in the soldiers—who managed to laugh at themselves and their circumstances, using dark humor and irony. Self-deprecating humor is a hallmark of Odesa. I saw that this humor was alive; it had simply taken on a different level of intensity. That’s when I started writing again. You don’t even have to make anything up here: you just take real-life stories, because they need to be recorded.
Text is always a form of control over chaos. The author decides where to put a comma and where to put a period. Has the process of writing books become for you a purely therapeutic practice of maintaining control over a life that’s impossible to predict even a day in advance?
Actually, I advise all my friends to write, even if they don’t plan to publish anything. It’s incredible self-therapy. I didn’t realize this right away myself, and it was never my primary goal. I wrote because I wanted to create new fictional worlds, situations, and emotions; I used to absolutely love making things up rather than drawing on reality. But over time, I noticed that writing works as therapy for me.
Now it also really helps me cope with reality—even when I’m not writing about myself, but simply jotting down someone else’s story. I can’t imagine what I’d do if I didn’t write. I’ve only recently started seeing a therapist from time to time, and I’m enjoying that process as well. It’s another source of inspiration: I can dig something up inside myself, and then I go and work. But before, it was the act of writing itself that saved me from going crazy.
On the one hand, writing is about control. But don’t you think that chaos is sometimes more honest than control? Do you let it take over, at least in your drafts?
Oh, I definitely let chaos dominate my writing in the early stages. After all, that’s when the main tool of control kicks in— editing. No matter what I write in the heat of the moment, later I look at it with a different, sober eye and bring structure to any chaos.
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SCREENSHOT: Intenta’s YouTube channel
In life, I try to manage this too. My zodiac sign is Capricorn, which means I’m a die-hard control freak: I love planning everything, I value discipline, and I can’t stand chaos. However, it’s impossible to control every aspect of life, especially right now. That’s why I’ve been learning for a long time to find balance and let a little chaos into my life: whatever happens, happens. I like this experiment—it broadens my horizons. I’m learning not to panic when things get out of control, but simply to let the situation go and find a kind of satisfaction in it.
How does your writing come to life today? Is it strict discipline or flashes of inspiration that you have to capture?
The first impulse is always a flash. Something has to strike a chord with me: a story, an emotion, a memory. Something so powerful that it triggers a reaction: “Wow, that’s awful!” or “Wow, that’s beautiful! I’ve never heard or felt anything like this before!” But once I realize that this spark could grow into a short story, a novel, or a play—that’s when discipline kicks in. I start planning: so, do I have time for a longer form right now? When will I write? Oh, there’s a free window in July, so I’ll work in July. That’s how they balance each other out: flashes of inspiration and discipline.
Your works focus a lot on female characters—their fragility and, at the same time, their incredible strength. How have Ukrainian women changed in recent years, and what traits do you notice in yourself and your heroines?
More experienced fellow writers used to tell me, “Why do you write only about women and for women? You need to broaden your scope and tackle big, serious topics.” At the time, I had my doubts; I started to reflect on it and even cut my hair short to look like a “more serious” writer, because, you see, I’m too feminine. But time passed, I let it go, and I thought: Who will write about women if not me? And these aren’t superficial topics at all. The world of women is full of profound meanings.
I absolutely love what’s happening with women in Ukraine right now. On average, women are becoming freer, more candid in their expressions, more experienced, more talented, and more beautiful. For me, the most important thing is that we shed the stereotypes, socially imposed expectations, and prejudices: when to get married, when to have children, how to behave around men or in society, what’s “acceptable” and what’s “shameful.” Actually, that’s exactly what I wrote about in my play—how important it is to shed this burden of “a girl shouldn’t” and to express ourselves in the world however we want, realizing our dreams and talents. We still have a long way to go, but we’re definitely moving in the right direction.
If you were to put together a small “survival kit” of three books for a Ukrainian right now, what would you include?
That’s a tough question, because my favorite books aren’t necessarily what people need right now. But if I think about what can inspire and support people...
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SCREENSHOT: Intenta’s YouTube channel
First, it has to be something very ironic. I’d choose a collection of short stories by Edgar Keret. He’s an Israeli writer with a brilliant style of short prose. Israelis understand perfectly well what we’re going through, and Keret’s work is full of great, specifically war-related irony. Second—a collection of poems by Serhiy Zhadan, for example, *Antenna*. You can open it to any page, read it, and find inspiration. Third, I’d recommend my first collection, *Women as Women*. It’s lighthearted, a bit like fairy tales, and will definitely help you take your mind off the harsh reality—at least for an evening.
What feels more natural to you today: reminiscing about the past or imagining the future?
Only the future and the present. There’s simply no time for the past.
If you had the chance to bring back just one pre-war memory, what would it be?
I often imagine this because I can’t make it happen right now. I love fishing. I often think back to how my friends and I would head out on a motorboat or yacht far out to sea, where there’s nothing but water all around you, and go fishing. People tell me, “Just go sit on the pier.” But the pier is nothing like that. I miss that feeling of the open sea. Fortunately, my imagination is in good shape: if I close my eyes, I can clearly recall that smell, the sun, and the waves.
What single word or phrase best describes your current state of mind?
Inspiration, after all. I’m in a state where everything happening around me no longer frightens me; on the contrary, it inspires me to act and makes me think exclusively about the future.
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