Writer Ellen Morris Prewitt Blog

When Your President Can Do No Wrong

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on January 12, 2021. Posted in General, RACISM. Leave a Comment

The dry cleaners my grandparent owned smelled like hot cloth and headache-inducing sizing and musty Town Creek. I could kneel on the floor, squint an eye over a hole, and watch the creek flow beneath downtown Jackson, Mississippi. When I rose, I dusted my dirty palms as the iron sewing machine whirred, stabbing and hemming, mending and sewing. Late...

The Attack

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on January 10, 2021. Posted in General, GRIEF, LOVE. 6 Comments

When I was in elementary school, I lived next door to the county sheriff. The sheriff’s family was best friends with my family. One of the daughters in the family was our favorite babysitter and second mom. We loved that family. The sheriff’s family had a dog. A German Shepherd. His name was Shane. Shane protected our house the same...

Sounds of the Day Leaving

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on January 5, 2021. Posted in General. 4 Comments

I am sitting here on the point of my screened porch listening to the day leave. Squirrels crack nuts. Mocking birds, attempting to colonize the highest branch where they can lord it over all the other lower birds, scold. Wings flap. Even in January, bugs buzz. The sun lengthens shadows. Cars hum on Beach Boulevard, one, two, sporadic. Dogs bark...

Heading into 2021 like…

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on January 1, 2021. Posted in General. 6 Comments

Magazine Street mural on New Year’s Day We are beginning a new year with exuberance, joy, careful community, and beauty. Wishing you the best of beginnings.

Time is and was: 2020 into 2021

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on December 28, 2020. Posted in General, GOD, GRIEF, LOVE. 6 Comments

Do you believe in what might have been? How about what was and is again? Do you believe in that? Multiple strands of time, I’m talking about, so that, in what might have been, the twin boys I longed for in my first life—King and John Powell—are nearing thirty years old. Brown-headed handsome young men. It could have happened, if I hadn’t...

Malcolm X has died, and I am Full of Sorrow

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on December 16, 2020. Posted in General, RACISM. 2 Comments

Malcolm has died three times in my last four months. First, he died in Manning Marable’s Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention. Then he went silent at the end of The Autobiography of Malcolm X: As Told To Alex Haley. But his death in Les Payne’s The Dead are Arising: The Life of Malcolm X was the most difficult. In Les Payne’s opus,...

How are You?

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on December 13, 2020. Posted in General, GRIEF, LOVE. 13 Comments

Hi, y’all. How are you doing? Is it going okay? Tell me the truth. I’ll start. If you’re Christian like me, it’s the Advent season leading into Christmas but all the churches are closed. If you’re American like me, it’s the transition period between presidents, which is going swimmingly. If you’re female...

To You

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on November 23, 2020. Posted in General, LOVE. 19 Comments

If I focus on loss this Thanksgiving, I will not survive the holiday. Instead, I tell you: I am thankful for my fav cuz Corinne Sampson whom I can call whenever I need someone to listen and who can call me when she needs someone to listen to her and who of all the millions and billions of souls on this planet entirely gets my sense of humor....

Waiting with Baited Breath

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on November 19, 2020. Posted in General, Writing. 12 Comments

As far as where my writing stands, I know y’all await the latest news with bated breath (which if only it were spelled “baited breath” would mean your breath smells like an earthworm wiggling on the hook.) So you’ll be glad to hear that IN THE NAME OF MISSISSIPPI is with the 2nd round of Beta Readers. By the time this round...

When We Still had Class

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on November 11, 2020. Posted in General, LOVE. 6 Comments

My dad went to prep school at age 13 where his father took him to the railway station, shook his hand, and said, “Give ’em hell, son.” There stood the little boy on the platform, by himself, waiting for the train. He entered college at age 16 and, at such a tender age, ran track for the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill....