You Will Offend Everyone but Terrorists

Give people a story that echoes with familiarity yet rings brand new. I had that thought several days ago, which was followed yesterday by this quote from Harding Davis courtesy of A.Word.A.Day (which I love): “The secret of good writing is to say an old thing in a new way or a new thing in an old way.” I love the old echo. I also...

Continue reading

Making a Connection

I reactivate this blog, and Michael dies. Yesterday, I was all pumped up about creativity and possibility. I was infused with enthusiasm, drunk on inspiration and the power of the Spirit. Today, Michael died. I am bewildered by what happened: how can a man who wrote about his change of luck, whose last article was about finding a new safe place...

Continue reading


Reactivating the blog, which has taken me through the maze of remembering my password, changing the email (because they thought they’d sent me an email to an address that I couldn’t remember ever having set up – no chance I’d remember the password to THAT) and re-familiarizing myself with how to add a new post. Take a...

Continue reading

What I have Learned

What happens when you facilitate a group of writers who have experienced homelessness? You learn. You learn things that you – by which I mean me – would otherwise never know. The main thing I’ve learned is that homelessness can befall any of us. Our immense creativity will not keep us out of homelessness. Our love of God, our...

Continue reading

The Fashion Model Detective Novel

First, an earring went missing. Just the one earring, not the pair, which made no sense. Yet, when the model stepped from the runway and whirled into the dressing room, laughing and delighted at the success of the show—there was the singleton earring. Gordon’s Jewelers, the store showing the earrings, was upset that an expensive piece of jewelry...

Continue reading

In the Name of Mississippi

How do you want me to tell you this story? I could tell it my mama’s way, hiding the truth of it so you’ll feel more comfortable. Louise McClintock Owen could declare in all honesty, “I love my family,” while her peckerwood kin hooted and hollered in the background. Her own mama—my grandmother, if you want to call her that—nicknamed my daddy,...

Continue reading

Stay in Touch with Ellen's Very Southern Voice Newsletter

Follow Ellen Morris Prewitt

Subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 1,295 other subscribers