Anne O’Neil writes fiction about people who are supposed to love each other but get distracted, usually by selfishness, but also by cars, binge-watching, indie-rock obsession, or boredom. She also sews clothes inspired by vintage designs and children’s books, almost elusively out of cotton, silk, and wool, but occasionally from other natural fibers. She constructs jewelry from silver, brass, and leather and forms hats for all seasons. For plays, she designs costumes, but sometimes writes them, or just takes the tickets, except in a few terrifying situations, when she has acted in them.
For a while during the late Aughts and the early TwentyTens, she owned a cute little shop in Red Hook Brooklyn called Tiburon. People liked it; they still lament its passing, but who could stop an act of god? (See: Frankenstorm Sandy) There, in-between curated men’s Hawaiian shirts, women’s 1960s and 1970s beautiful togs, she displayed her own stuff, including Ex-boyfriend-shirt dresses, leather fringe necklaces, and chunky silver pendants.
Kind of a Jack-of-all-trades, she has worked in corporate jobs in Sales, Marketing, and Business development, and has also worked on a sailboat. Knowledgeable about both mixology and independent beermakers, she’s useful in a bar.
Anne O'Neil 