Alex Carrick’s Blog

There once lived a king who loved the theater. His taste crossed all genres – romances, sophisticated comedies, broad farces and stomach-churning tragedies. He particularly liked historical pieces that featured his ancestors. Watching his predecessors parade around in crowns and tiaras while engaging in outrageous behavior was a self-centered delight. The royals’ peccadilloes were well [...]

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What he liked about her was her laughter. What she liked about him was his silence. Her laughter was quiet, rich and reflective. It was doled out sparingly. When forthcoming, you knew it had been earned. It carried neither price tag, nor was gained at another’s expense. Sometimes she giggled. Those were special occasions, when they [...]

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Charley Van Dearon was an outdoorsy type who liked fishing, hunting and even scrapping when the occasion warranted. He was rugged of demeanor, with an excess of vigor to go along with a fun-loving nature. Still, he was no one-dimensional cartoon. He had a sensitive and romantic side with deeper thoughts than many of his [...]

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Please note: The following story was awarded an Honorable Mention in the 2011 Lorian Hemingway Short Story Competition. He’d gotten himself into this mess by volunteering. That’s what happens when you’re an eager beaver. He’d never been one before and he wouldn’t be one next time. What had he been thinking? Surely he knew better [...]

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Time: the present. Location: the upstairs master bedroom of a fabulous mansion on Long Island’s Gold Coast. Greta, the maid, knocked on the open door to give advance warning and walked thirty feet to the nightstand. She deposited the breakfast tray and acknowledged with a slight bow the thank you from the Mrs. on the [...]

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Mille Feuille hated and loved the Mix Master. Both were stars in their tiny firmament. They were on the faculty of the English Department at a smallish but well-respected university in Peterborough, Ontario. The academic life in such a small community was a tiny whirlwind of activity that mimicked the larger vortex in nearby Toronto [...]

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I refer to this piece as half poetry, half storytelling and half crazy. Since there is a poetic element, I’d like the flow to be consistent down the page (or screen, actually, in this case). Thus present preamble to take the intro past the picture of the scholarly-looking gentleman on the right (your left). **** [...]

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Branscomb Hall was where the brainiacs lived. There might be psychedelic drugs, free sex and rock and roll elsewhere on campus, but the boys of “Branny” were renowned for keeping their noses to the grindstone. South of the border, Americans were agonizing over the Vietnam War. In Canada, these were the halcyon days before OPEC [...]

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Griselda Beamish was happier than she had been in a hundred years. While others of her kind were having trouble adjusting to modern times, Zelda embraced the new. All of the most recent advances in technology made her life simpler. There were opportunities that she could never have imagined before. Take her job for instance. [...]

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I’ve come up with a parlour game that’s the mental equivalent of twiddling one’s thumbs. Think of an imaginary statement, proposition or news item that uses at least two popular song titles. Then consider what the reaction of an impartial observer might be. Is this confusing? Read a few examples and you’ll quickly catch the drift. [...]

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