Tag: Mandira Pattnaik

  • Outsider Perspectives, Insider Narratives: In Defense of Omissions

    By Mandira Pattnaik In the Summer of 2020, peak-pandemic times, I received my first writing solicitation. The topic was to write a micro-memoir. I had never written such a thing before, and like the way I am, the challenge itself made me accept the offer. In near impossible times, we had become more nostalgic. With…

  • Outsider Perspectives: Matchmaking for the Outsider

    By Mandira Pattnaik When I signed up to be a Columnist for Reckon Review, it was a leap of faith for me. I’ve written fiction and poetry, but columns? It was a November day like this, exactly a year ago, and whoops! I had committed to it! I guess I’d trusted my instincts. Several columns…

  • Reckoning Flash

    An Interview with Tommy Dean by Mandira Pattnaik I have been writing Flash Fiction for about three years now. As a new writer, I read a lot. Most literary magazines have archives that are free to read, and full of gorgeous pieces. I’ve learned structure and narrative nuances and have discovered some great Flash Fiction writers.…

  • Outsider Perspectives: Insider Narratives

    by Mandira Pattnaik At daytime, as I sit at my desk to write, there’s an arresting distraction: a narrative flowing within the metal frames of the window pane in front of me. It’s a scene in flux, or multiples thereof. A tragi-comedy as a middle-aged couple argue, shopping bags in hand, on the street below;…

  • Outsider Perspectives: Home, Hinges, and Halcyons

    by Mandira Pattnaik Before any of our reckoning happens, one must first assimilate. Consider “Home.” Feel about home, feel it under the skin, like the warm rush of blood. Home — the inspiration of poetry, the soil of longing, the destination of all return. Garden, hearth, dwelling, domicile. Ah! It evokes a whole gamut of…

  • Porcellanidae

    Fiction by Mandira Pattnaik In our parts, the crab-girls wear skirts a little above their knees, twist their arms to look like unfurled bright petals. They glaze porcelain bodies to resemble a trap, a floret blooming. In times such as ours, the crab-girls lie to their mothers, use swear words, race their cycles with boys…