Mike Scalise

Here’s the mini chapbook I made for the show:

And here’s what the Washington Post said about the exhibit (w/ bonus slideshow):

The sweaty masses packed last weekend’s “Call + Response,” a collaborative exhibition that asked 16 artists to respond to stories by 16 writers, transforming the gallery into a giant, disjointed picture book. Standouts: Magnolia Laurie’s delicate architectural fantasias done in gouache and graphite [...] Another hit: artist Bryan Rojsuontikul, who memorialized TV icon Mister Rogers via minimalist icons Carl Andre (yes, you may step on Rojsuontikul’s linoleum tiles) and John Baldessari (those 1960s text paintings, which Rojsuontikul riffs on). The work is a shout-out to Mike Scalise, author of a story about the Cardiganed One’s indifference to death.

Read a little more at the CP, who had semi-nice things to say about the pairing, and at Roll Call, who was brief but complimentary.

That’ll be it for art gallery-related self-promotery. More news soon.

After four months of solitude and whatnot, this January has me out among the herds in a way that makes me seem far more extroverted than is personally accurate. In the first two weeks of this month I read some new stuff with some pals at 826DC, and lectured a bunch of Hopkins pre-med geniuses about how to write about indelible ailments.

Now, this week, two more appearances. The first one is with my excellent poet buddy Gerald Maa (pictured here with the slick mohawk) at Joe Hall’s reading series, Cheryl’s Gone. It will be my second time taking part this thing. I read at the very first one back in October 2007, a long-winded essay about sink pissing that went over like a lead balloon.

This time I’ll be reading a chunk of stuff I worked on at Bucknell–topics covered: inappropriately-named doctors, obsolescence, shit for brains, and Andre the Giant–so I hope that mix of subject areas will work better this time around. (2/5 update after the jump.)

Then, two days later on 1/23, I’ll be one of about 16 different writers featured at Call + Response, which I wrote about here. The curators have expanded the website with bios and a statement, and put together a press release (PDF) that should be able to tell you all about the situation, which remains very exciting. I have not yet seen what Brian R. has made of my contribution, but when I do,  I’ll throw pics up here.

So, to be clear: come see me read Thursday, or come to this art thing on Saturday. Or both. Adios.

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Earlier this month Dinty W. Moore, editor of the micro-essay blog Brevity and all-around nonfiction guy published in the Mississippi Review a piece entitled “Self-Critique”, which he believes to be the shortest essay ever. Here it is:

I have a tendency towards glibness.

Now: I’m not trying to pick a fight with Dinty Moore here. I was in one of his workshops at the 412 Festival a few years ago and found him funny, pleasant, truly helpful, and I’ve enjoyed much of what I have read of his work. But can someone please explain to me, in sober, clear, and intelligent terms, what makes “I have a tendency towards glibness” an “essay”?

I’m not nay-saying or shit-talking. I just need someone to answer this question for me. I have done a few of these things myself, but I’m certainly no aficionado. And I’m aware of the trend of micro-lit out there right now, and generally enjoy it, if only because it highlights basic structures/values of the form it chooses, regardless of how short; sort of a celebration of what the form can do without much text-adornment, which is always fun. SMITH’s Six Word Memoir Contest–inspired by the Hemingway story “For sale: baby shoes, never worn”, which is undoubtedly a fully-realized piece of narrative, matching many well-known traits of short fiction (character, conflict, etc.)–traffics in this territory very successfully. “Memoir” for their purposes seems to be “that which is remembered,” like: “Canoe guide, only got lost once.”  and “Birth, childhood, adolescence, adolescence, adolescence, adolescence . . .”; and the SMITH memoirs sometimes tend to take on the form of personal narratives that have more in common with fiction, as memoir often does, such as Justin Taylor’s “Former child star seeks love, employment.” (I stole examples from here).

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