Mrs Morrison's Hotel

The 100% personal official blog for Patricia Kennealy Morrison, author, Celtic priestess, retired rock critic, wife of Jim

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Location: New York, New York, United States

I was, wait, sorry, that's "David Copperfield". Anyway, I was born in Brooklyn, grew up on Long Island, went to school in upstate NY and came straight back to Manhattan to live. Never lived anywhere else. Never wanted to. Got a job as a rock journalist, in the course of which I met and married a rock star (yeah, yeah, conflict of interest, who cares). Became a priestess in a Celtic Pagan tradition, and (based on sheer longevity) one of the most senior Witches around. Began writing my Keltiad series. Wrote a memoir of my time with my beloved consort (Strange Days: My Life With and Without Jim Morrison). See Favorite Books below for a big announcement...The Rennie Stride Mysteries. "There is no trick or cunning, no art or recipe, by which you can have in your writing that which you do not possess in yourself." ---Walt Whitman (Also @ and

Thursday, August 13, 2009

A Room of One's Own...Or More So

I had The Apartment Dream right before I woke up a while ago. Everybody in NYC probably has had this dream at some point; mine's recurring, though different every time. It's the one where you're in the back of your apartment and suddenly you discover a whole new room, or series of rooms, or a loft, or a whole other apartment, that you never knew was there. And you are so happy!

I usually find a new, modern, loft-style addition somehow tacked on to the back of my East Village Victorian-vintage railroad flat. I've had the dream ever since I first moved here in 1967...
Sometimes it's a huge, empty loft with many rooms (which makes me nervous, as the security doesn't seem up to par and I'm afraid of someone sneaking in through all the vast emptiness I can't bolt or keep an eye on), sometimes it's a sort of extension that leads down to the backyard and an adorable little carriage house... it's always slightly different.

I thought it was strictly a New York thing, a reaction to perennially tight quarters, but people all over seem to have it. Men and women alike.

Today's was a new variant: I had actually moved into a brand-new spiffy high-rise, but didn't like it much 'cause the previous tenant's stuff was still there, and then I discovered a secret door in the back of the bedroom leading to an old-style pre-war flat with pocket doors and high ceilings and antiquey detailing, and was a lot happier...

But you know, if I actually HAD all that space,I'd just fill it up as crammed and cluttered as the place I live in...


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