by Paul Chuks...Kate’s eyes were blue as though they were molded from the sky and plugged straight into her eye sockets. The black and white spots were an added spirituality...She was black in the way the night did not mean to be.

by Mandira Pattnaik...Yet, as the years pass, my writing has been increasingly reflective of the present, the world we live in, its people, its rules. As you can imagine, my stories have been rather sad as a result. My last two fiction publications had children caught in the crossfire in an active warzone and “honor killing” practiced in India at the center of the narratives.

by Mandira Pattnaik...I understand that there is an ethic of anger — a secret code. It frequently slides into unreasonableness, and one may sometimes misdiagnose the source. It is not without peril to play with the “fire” within

by Paul Chuks...I enjoy pretending, Like when I’m at the job and My boss bands with me for A hug. I smile emphasizing I like my pay. That way, lord, I want to pretend You exist.

by Mandira Pattnaik...Like all wordsmiths, I’ve built forests from alphabets. Like all forest dwellers, I’ve been a gatherer all my life.

by Paul Chuks...This is my first poem post-depression. My therapist is not sure I’m well because I tell her the world is still grey. Yesterday, I walked past a knife without the thought of blood.

by Mandira Pattnaik Blaz photo Reading can ruin your writing career. No one says that — it is equivalent to sacrilege in the literary world. In fact, the popular advice is exactly the opposite: reading helps with writing. I’ve been hearing this ever since I can remember, even when I wasn’t writing. Will I still choose to advise against reading? Yes. Don’t get me wrong — I am advising against reading too much when you are already a writer, and not any reading by any person pic

by Mandira Pattnaik Mahmoud Sulaiman After my last column, I did not expect to talk about witnessing again so soon. In a different context though, but equally miserable and malevolent. Ukraine-Russia, India-Pakistan, and now Iran-Israel. I did not expect us to be in a long dark tunnel of anxiety so enormous that we traverse through it without knowing whither its light, whither its end. I did not foresee such a disavowal of human tragedy no matter where we stand. And surely, w

by Paul Chuks Elti Meshau Rain pattered the roof. The hall was quiet, a pin drop would have sounded like a riot. Grime faces stared at their question papers, lecturers paced the hall, more bounce added to their step — a devilish grin that seemed like the grime faces validated their mischievousness. On my seat, the wind stalked me like a stubborn ex. It removed my cap and scattered my hair that I had gripped in a rubber band. A lecturer strolled my way and held my hand as I wa

by Mandira Pattnaik UX Gun/Unsplash The full picture can never be understood. There are images, social media and narratives. It is not just about the women at the frontlines — two women in uniform were chosen to make the press briefing — but there are mothers and children and people left behind. A witness is unreliable in this context. There is our present, our today, in which there is so little of everything. Scarcity stares at opulence. We have stopped caring to regather; w

by Mandira Pattnaik Marcos Paulo Prado Besides FOMO. And besides being, well and truly, envious. There’s no Fiction Month. Nowhere in the world. The closest is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), a yearly event where writers aim to write a 50,000-word novel in November. Is NaNoWriMo even comparable to Poetry Month? The answer is — no. For one, National Poetry Month is not just about poets aiming to write poetry — although a huge chunk of them do write poems, some commit

by Paul Chuks Femi Ogunlana During the mass transfer of 2008 — an occasional ritual where the government takes civil servants from one end of the country to another — your mother was transferred from Sagamu to a place where the sun mistook itself for an angry mother-hen and burned harsher than it did elsewhere in the country: Ogbomosho. The season there in January was as though God had frozen the atmosphere in the previous year and released it with the new year. The road was

by Mandira Pattnaik Briana Tozour Greetings on International Women’s Day, dear friends! I hope you’re finding ways to celebrate, no matter where you are. While this may not feel like a time to celebrate anything, let us remember that the hope and connection we foster with one another can bring comfort and light. It is not a holiday in India, where I live, and honestly, I’m baffled that it isn’t. How can we claim to honor women when several Asian nations, including China, Afgh

by Mandira Pattnaik Samuel Regan-Asante Funny what can trigger my writing on a particular day — an image; a news item; a debate on a public platform on whether arranged marriages are a fair deal; a puppy I routinely see on the road but haven’t seen in three days (Is it ill? Or was it squashed under one of the rashly-driven cars?). For example, I started the week by pausing my mindless scrolling on three lamentation posts that appeared on my timeline. In one, a poet rued the p

by Paul Chuks eniko kis That evening the world seemed platonic, everything was perfect. The walls had no crack in them. The flowers were the blueprint from which others (in the physical world) were created, aged yet unwithered, the sky — a motif of blue that filmed my ancestors reading my poems amongst themselves in heaven. You snuck into my head and sat gently like God had sent you to keep my brain company. Although you were not privy to the biological implications of cohabi

by Paul Chuks Akira Hojo Syncretism can be mistaken for something legitimate, if defined simply as the assimilation or combining of ideas into a new whole. For what history has proven it to be, it is a process of alienation of people’s culture cum profane misrepresentation of their traditions via new improvised identity that serves the purpose of imperialism and colonialism. It is mostly done with religion. The task for the colonialists, after subduing their subjects physical

by Mandira Pattnaik Sage Friedman In my life in English, so to speak, there’s a sense that if I don’t hit a certain benchmark, I’ve failed. That’s the judgment I’ve felt from American culture from the start — the expectation to assimilate, and then, when I became a writer, to “represent” the Indian American experience, the immigrant experience. Then there’s the eternal, original judgment — of my mother, my parents, their immigrant community, their many friends with advanced d

by Paul Chuks Jordan Bebek When the ulcer in the stomach disappears after a holy visitation from the prophet’s hands. Or when the vehicle tumbles thrice before landing to a crash, as though an invisible spirit launched it from the back — leaving everyone dead but you. Only that the ulcer reneged three months after the testimony and, people died in that crash. * After the trailer had crushed other vehicles — yanking them off its way — the way you imagined Goliath would David w

by Paul Chuks Gani Fawehinmi Park, located in Ojota, Lago / CC-ReoMartins In the course of Nigeria’s democracy and her historical pitfalls with its tragic actors, many activists have risen to steer Nigeria on the path of what they perceived to be true democracy. Gani Fawenhinmi was one of them. Driven mostly by his compassion for the masses, Gani, fondly called “senior advocate of the masses,” was rumored to have handled over a thousand cases, for free — what in legal terms i

by Paul Chuks Alina Fedorchenko I sprung into life as the black sheep of the family. No one told me it’d hurt. Black Sheep is the corrupted word for different. Although different becomes layered when we begin to consider whether humans differ. It is a psycho paradox that has left scholars sweating without an answer for centuries. The debate is not in the biological aspect — every human has a single unique gene encoded in them. It is in the psycho-social aspect. The bandwagon

by Paul Chuks Oladimeji Odunsi The Portuguese sauntered into Congo via the great Congo river in 1488 with the aim of making their state a vast African-Indian empire. Africa was not invaded earlier on due to a long held belief in the Western world that Earth was flat. After it was sufficiently debunked by Copernicus, Gil Eanes, sponsored by Prince Henry, dared in 1434 to sail beyond the area where the Atlantic ocean supposedly ended. It was the first successful voyage southwar

by Mandira Pattnaik This week two opposing letters written by a bunch of very famous authors, publishing agents and members of cultural organizations made it to my social feed. The first one was published on October 28 in Literary Hub, and was titled ‘Hundreds of Authors Pledge to Boycott Israeli Cultural Institutions.’ Signed by such eminent authors as Sally Rooney, Ocean Vuong, Kaveh Akbar and Jhumpa Lahiri, the letter said: “We have a role to play. We cannot in good consci

by Paul Chuks deshawn wilson In what is now a hit tweet circulating the ‘muskverse,’ a Nigerian X (formerly Twitter) influencer, from the perspective of red-pillism — a term popularized on social media which means an idea that despises ‘victim mentality’ or weakness, whether true or not — tweeted that ‘Blacks let go of racism and stop fighting for equality because our African ancestors had slaves equally as the whites and had a chance to lead the world economy with their labo

by Paul Chuks To speak a language is to take on a world, a culture, said Frantz Fanon. A fact of language that has eluded us for many years. Perhaps this is why Obi Wali started the campaign for African writers to write in their native language. When writers replied that the most common language in the country was the colonial one, Obi Wali urged the military to overhaul the English language and make Hausa the Lingua Franca. Even the military ignored him and the argument was

by Mandira Pattnaik Daniel/Unsplash Last week, the managing editor of a prominent publication I had never before submitted to, reached out to me through my author website. They had read "Dark Matter" (published 2022; Selected in Best of 20 Years’ of Contrary Magazine; Pushcart nominated) and liked it enough to invite me to submit. A communication such as this, without doubt, is enormously flattering for any writer, and when the froth settles, one is bound to feel a surreal co

by Mandira Pattnaik Mike Von My writing life began in 2019. So I am a five-year-old kid-writer. For me, I feel the same awe and bewilderment as a kid in the world, newly discovering things. I have sad days and happy days. I feel tired like a five-year-old after school. I feel elated when an editor (to me, a teacher) praises my work. Like a five-year-old who collects pebbles and fallen leaves, I collect (and gratefully safekeep) editorial notes, reader comments, notebooks and

by Mandira Pattnaik Lucas Margoni The Booker longlist was announced on July 30. About the 13 books (by 8 women and 5 men), the statement that accompanied the announcement said: “Works of fiction that inhabit ideas by making us care deeply about people and their predicaments” — which is exactly what is truly needed in today’s world of paradoxes and mounting inequalities. Expectedly, readers across the world eagerly wait to find out who will win. They scramble to read the longl

by Mandira Pattnaik Julian Gentile “Rejection” is a violent word that speaks directly to the body, says neuroscientist and literary scholar Laura C. Otis. Otis wasn’t talking about literary rejection but personal rejection. Yet, for the longest time, writers have experienced this type of a cascade of emotions. Turns out, rejection does have physical reactions in our body that can actually be recorded, according to scientific evidence. That’s mind numbing. For sure. My editors

by Mandira Pattnaik USGS Saudi Arabia hosted the 2024 World Environment Day global celebrations last week. This year’s campaign focused on land restoration, desertification and drought resilience under the slogan “Our land. Our future. We are #GenerationRestoration”, which was great because land is the only thing we have. We can’t live on water, or under the surface, or up in the air. It is particularly vital for a country like India where a new analysis showed that the built

by Mandira Pattnaik Raajit Sharma It is the peak of summer. Until a week ago, day temperatures were hovering between 40 and 45 degree Celsius, but there’s been an early onset of monsoon, and we should be enjoying the steady drizzle while munching pakodas and meeting friends over cups of chai. Seems, we are not. Instead we are debating furiously. Wait. Am I in the middle of the greatest exercise in the assertion of choice in the history of the planet? You bet I am — general el

by Amy Cipolla Barnes Michael Gault I see dead fonts It’s one of my quirks. I also didn’t get the ending of The Sixth Sense until I worked backwards with all the red clues in place. In hindsight, a fiction writer should have known better. The foreshadowing was not laid on with a light brush. I also hate Arial and am angry that it’s now apparently the default in Google Docs. I’ll switch this essay to Times New Roman before I finish it. Signs and billboards are my constant writ

by Mandira Pattnaik Marek Piwnicki Literary novels are refugees of a time in the past, escaping to the future to tell forgotten and forgiven stories; to tell the realities of the people inhabiting these lands, and their woes and dilemmas. And curiously, also to uncover the stories behind those narratives — how they came into being. These past few weeks, two novels captured my attention for very different reasons. I received the news of the publication of Gabriel García Márque

by Mandira Pattnaik Ashlyn Ciara Lost on Me, written by Italian writer, translator and screenwriter, Veronica Raimo, longlisted in The International Booker Prize 2024 announced on March 11, has a curious narrative line: Vero has grown up in Rome with her eccentric family consisting of an omnipresent, anxiety-filled mother, a father ruled by hygienic and architectural obsessions, and a precocious genius brother at the center of their attention. Vero wishes to break-free, but h

by Mandira Pattnaik Tom Hermans When the New Delhi World Book Fair 2024 ceded space to participating countries to showcase tourism and heritage and promote higher education opportunities available, I felt a certain sadness. It was like the organizers (National Book Trust, Ministry of Education, Government of India) had accepted that books alone, and literature alone, would not attract crowds. Not only was such presence of ancillary purposes prominently advertised, but thought

by Joel Worford Markus Spiske Last year, last January — I wrote a column called “How Does a Writer Practice?” in which I tossed and turned over not knowing how to objectively improve at writing. My anxiety stemmed, I guess, from the fact that, as a storyteller, you never outgrow not knowing what the hell you’re doing. “It frightens me to practice a craft in which the skills I regularly rely on, I can’t call upon, at will” (the writer I am today would have cut that last comma.

by Amy Cipolla Barnes AWP is impending. As in doom. I’ve started having the bad dreams I think only writers have, or maybe just me. Not simple naked-in-a-college-classroom dreams. Or even naked-at-my-first-in-person-readings. That would be too easy. My dreams involve things like wandering out of the hotel (where I share a barracks style room with random people who sing show tunes and steal from the baked potato bar) into long creepy mall corridors, until I’m in a muddy under-

by Mandira Pattnaik Florian Olivo Currently fascinated about Japanese culture after watching a series of travel videos, I have been reading up about food (onigiri, udon, yakitori) beyond the more popular sushi and tempura, places (Nara, Asakusa) beyond the usual Mt. Fuji and Shibuya, and about festivals like the Gion and Tenjin Matsuri beyond the Cherry Blossom and Snow Festivals. I laugh at myself for the depths that I go, and feel happy when I use bits from the info I have

by Amy Cipolla Barnes Tamanna Rumee I’ve struggled to find words in 2023. Full stop. The words stopped. As the year ends, my pantser-self has no list of submissions, acceptances, rejections, books read or not read. I tried. There are scattered documents entitled “2023 writing progress” on my computer. I signed up for and wrote absolutely nothing in several month-long writing sprints. I haven’t managed to write this column in months. I did read thousands of brilliant submissio

by Mandira Pattnaik READ: If you haven’t heard it enough, here’s reiterating it one more time. READ. Publications that you’re fond of, publish what you love to read (plain logic). Send them what they’ll read with interest rather than pushing something which might be new to them, say a piece where you’ve experimented with form. From my experience, established places are unlikely to serve their readers with something that the readers are least expecting. Conversely, newer magaz

by Mandira Pattnaik Pauline Loroy Frankly, in a world so fragmented and opinionated (thanks to social media), it is difficult to say where writing ends and activism begins. I’m not an activist in the literal dictionary sense, but I’m fiercely protective of what I think is right and carefully scrutinize what I choose to believe in. Causes I’m invested in surely percolate into my writing, and readers might form opinions about my stands on various issues: Climate, for example, a

by Mandira Pattnaik Sydney Rae Turns out that the Indian news portal that reported certain probable names who may be awarded the Nobel Literature Prize for 2023, and my last column partially based on it, got it all wrong. “Reading the Norwegian writer and winner of the 2023 Nobel Prize in Literature Jon Fosse’s Scenes from a Childhood (2018) reminded me of Robert Walser and Franz Kafka. To be precise: Walser’s Berlin Stories (2006) and A Schoolboy’s Diary (2013), both origina

by Mandira Pattnaik Ben White As the author of a tiny chapbook of connected flash fiction stories which follows a couple through their early careers, marriage, difficult life changes, divorce and a longing for each other that threads their lifetime’s journey together, I am pleasantly surprised that one of the books that made the Booker Prize 2023 Shortlist is American Jonathan Escoffery’s collection of short stories If I Survive You. When the shortlist was announced a couple

by Mandira Pattnaik Eye for Ebony/Unsplash At 25, when her novel was still in progress, the writer typing away, briefly raising her head above the computer screen to gaze beyond the window, was confident. Titled White Teeth, the novel, which revolved around two wartime friends and about Britain’s relationship with immigrants from the Commonwealth countries, had already been named 100 best books of the 21st century a year before. Upon its publication in the year 2000, true to

by Joel Worford Marius Masalar At the end of last month, I moved to Iowa City to attend the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. That move marked the end of what I consider to be the first chapter of my music career, as I intend to spend the next few years focused on my writing. If I had to choose three words and a phrase to encapsulate my experience as a professional musician, they’d be blessed, transcendent, could you turn down? and frustrating. I have made good sounds and I have made b

by Amy Cipolla Barnes Elmer Cañas I’ve been told there are two best days of owning a boat: the day you buy it and the day you sell it. I think this may also apply to writing a book. It sounds pessimistic in both cases, perhaps. I know there are people who love their books and boats from day one until they go out of print or into someone else’s hands or into the water. But, researching boats takes time. After you buy the boat, you enjoy using it and taking friends out on the w

by Mandira Pattnaik Mandira Pattnaik Recently, I went to an automobile workshop for the first time. I don’t drive and the family car and its upkeep and repair are my husband’s responsibility. I’ve never had any interest except for this time when I decided to accompany him. The waiting lounge was tastefully decorated with comfy sofas and a center table, newspapers and magazines, a wide TV beaming a popular Hindi comedy movie, a beverage vending machine, and a suggestion box. T

by Joel Worford Raphael Lovaski This month I listened to all of Taylor Swift’s studio albums. I went chronologically from Taylor Swift to Midnights, sharing thoughts on my Instagram story for each. I only lost one friend throughout the journey, so I’d say my opinions were generally well-received. I found the majority of her discography good, some of it bad, and some of it great, with more great than bad moments. Red was my favorite album, and Lover was my least (too long). I

by Mandira Pattnaik Andre Sebastian Imagine you won the Nobel Prize in Literature, and, after all the brouhaha, you realize you don’t really want it. Imagine you were chosen for the International Booker, toasted in fancy ballrooms and filled-to-capacity auditoriums, and still have no writing room to call your own. These are the paradoxes of writing life — let’s face it — with all the glorious peaks, and dungeon-like abysses. I’m tempted to write a poem just about this! French

by Mandira Pattnaik Lucaxx Freire Writing life isn’t about existing in isolation. For example, I recently became a published book author, celebrating my book Where We Set Our Easel with a global audience, basking in the glory of excellent reviews. Side by side, sadly, I am still not immune to decline notices (that keep trickling into my inbox), and still getting hurt by the ‘nearly-there’ personal replies. I guess I will need to grow a thick skin as my fellow authors suggest,

by Joel Worford Job Vermeulen I started learning to sing when I was eighteen. Some people realize in their early adulthood that they have a vocal talent that is worth pursuing. I was not one of them. I learned to sing in spite of the vocal cords I was dealt, not because of them. My uncle saw me perform recently and said to my father “I didn’t know there was a vocal gift in our gene pool.” There wasn’t, Uncle Todd. I cultivated it, slowly and frustratedly, over nine years of p