Month: May 2018
So, I’m working on an essay about my escaping to the family farm in response to Mississippi’s racial mores that constricted behavior in the 1960s, and I’m using a bull (yep) as the central metaphor, and I’m afraid folks might not get it because the bull is incredibly destructive and he’s the POSITIVE metaphor, so...
Odd but God
Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on . Posted in GOD, LOVE. 2 Comments on Odd but God
Can I talk about God for a minute? I mean the God that presents when we step out in vulnerability, trusting that the Spirit guided our first faltering step and will be there if we succeed or fail. Lord, these steps are hard. Not because they involve a dramatic climb to the mountaintop where we’ll change the world. Rather, they mock us with...
Podcasting or Hacking Through the Jungle
Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on . Posted in General, Writing. 12 Comments on Podcasting or Hacking Through the Jungle
I did it. I recorded the podcast that will accompany the release of TRACKING HAPPINESS: A SOUTHERN CHICKEN ADVENTURE. The podcast, which I’ve named ELLEN’S VERY SOUTHERN VOICE: NOVELS TOLD WRITE, offers an extended version of the novel. Each of the 26 chapters has accompanying commentary with Helpful Train Hints and Fun Chicken Facts....
TRACKING HAPPINESS: Cover Reveal
Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on . Posted in GRIEF, LOVE, Writing. 13 Comments on TRACKING HAPPINESS: Cover Reveal
Here it is. The cover for TRACKING HAPPINESS: A SOUTHERN CHICKEN ADVENTURE. I love this cover. My sister Elli shot the photo—yep, she’s a professional photographer. That’s Goldie the Chicken as the chicken cover model. For the record, I am walking down abandoned railroad tracks. I wasn’t going to get hit by an oncoming train....
My Uncle Merwin
Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on . Posted in GOD, LOVE. 10 Comments on My Uncle Merwin
Without him, I might have never liked eggs. That seems like such a small accomplishment, frivolous even. But I’d been forced to eat eggs almost every morning of my life. I hated eggs. My loathing of eggs exceeded the bounds of good manners—as a child, I hid my eggs wherever I could find a secretive spot: under my plate, tucked against...