Month: March 2013

It’s Different

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on March 30, 2013. Posted in General. 4 Comments on It’s Different

“Begin with yourself,” said several of the panelists at today’s Memphis United People’s Conference on Race and Equality. They were talking about racism. “Begin with yourself and ripple out from there: to your household, your family, your neighborhood, your community.” This ls a paraphrase, but the concept was repeated many times. This is...

Open to All

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on March 25, 2013. Posted in General. 6 Comments on Open to All

There is a religion in New Orleans that I don’t know. In this religion the windows open outward. The joy vibrates and you are asked, “Are you Italian?” No?” Then you are told about the blessed bean. In this religion, hands wave, the food is spread and waiting. Sometimes the religion is about the saints. Sometimes it’s about the floats you...

Don’t Talk—Edit

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on March 22, 2013. Posted in General. 2 Comments on Don’t Talk—Edit

Oh my goodness—I just typed “THE END” on the Door of Hope writing group’s book! It’s not the end. But the hard part is over. The assembling of five years of handwritten pieces; the typing of those pieces by volunteer typists. The merging of all that work into a single document that can be called a manuscript. And...

Squids, quicksand, and the baby chicks apeeping

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on March 20, 2013. Posted in General. 4 Comments on Squids, quicksand, and the baby chicks apeeping

I am refilling a manuscript with a contest I entered last year at this time. To do so, I must justify the refilling, describing how the manuscript has changed. Thus, I’ve had occasion to review what last year I thought was a nearly complete version of The Bone Trench, this novel I can’t seem to give up on. This earlier version of the...

This is the House of the Lord

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on March 15, 2013. Posted in General. 4 Comments on This is the House of the Lord

In my mother and father’s house, a neighbor brings the morning newspaper to the back door. Six-thirty and the paper leans in the dark against the steps. Another neighbor, every trash day, rolls the garbage can to the curb. Yet another carts the mail down the long driveway. If this neighbor finds herself busy with life, she has a...