Tag: Door of Hope Writing Group

Black Panther: Tales of Wakanda

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on January 21, 2022. Posted in General, Writing. 2 Comments on Black Panther: Tales of Wakanda

This is a gorgeous book. I understand I’m probably not supposed to lead with that. I can’t help it. It’s a beautiful cover on a hefty book that promises—actually shouts—adventure ahead! The book, a collection of short stories, doesn’t lie. Don’t shy away from Black Panther: Tales of Wakanda if you’re not a...

The Yellow Line

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on December 7, 2018. Posted in General, HOMELESSNESS, Writing. 2 Comments on The Yellow Line

I spent eight years assisting those who were experiencing homelessness to get their voices into the world. So I am acutely aware that in my short story, The Yellow Line, I am writing in the voice of a woman whose experiences I cannot actually know. But Leroy Scott, one of the authors of Writing Our Way Home: A Group Journey Out of Homelessness,...

The Backstory

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on December 6, 2018. Posted in General, GRIEF, LOVE, Writing. 2 Comments on The Backstory

He stopped me in the stairwell of the yellow brick church on Monroe. It was our first session of the Door of Hope Writing Group held at the church. The church was temporary. We’d moved there from the backyard of Manna House where I teetered across the gravel in my high heels and June Averyt flung out her arm and said, “This is Ellen...

Not In Cahoots with the Nightmare

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on June 7, 2018. Posted in GOD, HOMELESSNESS, Writing. 4 Comments on Not In Cahoots with the Nightmare

I have been grappling with—what the hell, that makes it sound so sophisticated; I’ve been moping around the house wondering—the “Why?” question. Actually, it’s a “What?” question. What am I doing with my life right now that matters? When I was facilitating the Door of Hope Writing Group, the answer to this...

I Bet You do it Too

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on November 16, 2017. Posted in General, Racism to Reconciliation, Writing. 6 Comments on I Bet You do it Too

The first Community Writers Retreat I put together for Door of Hope Writing Group, the panel of facilitators was white. Every writer I’d identified to come and teach us about writing in an all-day conference was Caucasian. I wasn’t being racist. I was asking for favors: will you come—unpaid—to the Retreat and teach a workshop on writing? Of course...

Like a Hawk

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on May 27, 2016. Posted in HOMELESSNESS, LOVE. 2 Comments on Like a Hawk

You see, I’d just held a fundraiser for Outreach, Housing, and Community, the organization June Averyt founded to end homelessness. She also founded Door of Hope, which is where I met her when we started Door of Hope Writing Group. She died. I’ve told you about it here. Wanting to do something in her memory, I held my first popup...

“Working” with “The Homeless”

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on May 6, 2016. Posted in HOMELESSNESS, LOVE. 8 Comments on “Working” with “The Homeless”

He calls me over. Wants to know if I work out. “‘Cause you sure got a nice shape.” The breakfast St. Mary’s offers for those currently homeless is almost finished. He’s mopping up his grits. His friend on the other side of the table is interested in my answer to his question. The friend cranes his neck, surveying...

THAT’s Creativity?

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on October 25, 2015. Posted in GOD, HOMELESSNESS, LOVE, Racism to Reconciliation, Writing. 22 Comments on THAT’s Creativity?

Creativity is the glue that holds my life together. This week in my creative life, I: re-explored Facebook’s Notes feature published a long, involved blog post put together a new outfit that I liked so much I wore it two days in a row did final edits on an essay before sliding it into the metaphorical drawer for its “out of sight/out...

The Angel’s Beating Wings Fill the Room

Written by Ellen Morris Prewitt on December 10, 2013. Posted in General. 4 Comments on The Angel’s Beating Wings Fill the Room

The red table runners glowed, the tiny gold trees sparkled. The voices rang out in clear, clean notes—some among us could sing—and the warmth of the group welled up in me to the point I needed to leave the room. Not because I’m ashamed to cry in public, but because, over the years, I’ve grown tired of stifling the emotions Life knocks...