Paul Merkley
Bio
Co-Founder of Seniors Junction, a social enterprise working to prevent seniors isolation. Emeritus professor, U. of Ottawa. Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada. Founder of Tower of Sound Waves. Author of Fiction.
Achievements (1)
Stories (55/0)
The Fairy Flag and the Daughter of Thunder
'Are you seriously telling me,' the chief of Clan McLeod whispered furiously into the ear of the archeologist as the reporter approached, 'that the only press coverage you could manage to get was a woman from The Guardian? You know I don't hold with those lefties. If this doesn't work they'll make us out to be crackpots and blatherskytes.'
By Paul Merkley21 days ago in Fiction
Past, Present, and ?
I should have asked Lora sooner. A week and a half of the same nightmare, waking up in sweat, the rest at night I needed ruined, the day spent dragging my knuckles through work like an unproductive Zombie. Lora and I had been friends since Grade 3. Twenty years of solid friendship. If I couldn't trust her then who? She was on a new-age religious path, one that emphasized dreams, and she was the smartest girl in school. So why had I waited?
By Paul Merkley2 months ago in Fiction
Just a Minute
In a crisis, time slows down, and the mind speeds up, thank God, he reflected. Colonel Willis (Cool-Hand) Luce, six feet five inches tall and a shade under 290 pounds, commanded the launch room at US Stratcom, Offutt Air Force Base, Sarpy County, Nebraska. He was fond of tennis, not much for running around the back court, but with his wingspan he was a high brick wall at the net. Besides himself and the requisite lawyer, the room had two junior lieutenants at identical stations with keys to initiate a launch, two arrays of signal displays and monitors, one for Luce and his adjutant, the other for four analysts, two techies standing by to troubleshoot equipment, a linguist, a secretary, and a comms assistant. There was also a medic, placed there, Luce was pretty sure, for him. A widower, survivor of three heart attacks, veteran of two tours of duty in forward positions and a retired professor from the War College, he had accepted this position at the insistence of his former student the president, who had taken his course in Deterrence. He had obeyed the Commander in Chief, and insisted on the night shift, relishing the luxury of sleeping in after all the years of a military schedule. Following regulations there was a military chaplain. After all, you never knew, Luce mused.
By Paul Merkley3 months ago in Fiction
'Whose woods these are...'
It hit me, light snowfall underfoot, white, wooded air. Each snowflake is unique. How? Each a collection of one-D strings, each vibrating at its own frequency, each string responding uniquely to the Sound (the Logos). Why can't we see them? They're just one dimensional. No width, no thickness. How long are they? God alone knows. Every possible, imaginable length and more? Consciousness ensouls all, down to each string, which wants to further creativity, because of the Sound. Consciousness is the only cause. Each string impelled to vibrate.
By Paul Merkley6 months ago in Fiction
Why must people be so Litefractious? OR Keeping priorities straight
'I'm throwing a good-bye party for Anna. Just eight of us one meat entree one vegetarian.' "Can't. Jan's gluten free. Libbie's paleo plant based. Mark is New South Beach. Minimum six different entrees for the 8 guests."
By Paul Merkley9 months ago in Fiction
Potent potions
Tres megistos magnus Hermes Coram coram bamudores Nos laudamus formam formans Bamudamus Damudores Finishing the incantation, Sylvia reached for the paper she had written on, onion skin as prescribed, added a lock of her auburn hair that she had carefully cut, folded it into the paper and placed it in the beaker with the solution of tobasco sauce and lemon, also as instructed. Oddly, a small pink eraser flopped onto the counter. This woke up her Siamese cat, which immediately knocked it onto the floor.
By Paul Merkley9 months ago in Fiction
Rich Men North of Richmond
Times must be tough in the music business South of Richmond. No competent guitarists, singers, or lyricists, no barber to trim an unkempt beard. Childish guitar, weak melody, nonsensical message. Candy-eating welfare recipients starve morally superior drinking southern workers? Really? Old soul? Hasn't learned much. Makes true conservatives seem ridiculous.
By Paul Merkley11 months ago in Critique
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