3.2.11

The Mother Load Has MOVED!

The Mother Load has lef the building. Please come check out my fancy new digs at:

http://www.erinmargolin.com/

and my new Facebook fan page is here:

http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/RoadToMyWriterRoots

2.2.11

New Orleans Honeysuckle: Gramma's Backyard

image courtesy of lakeshorepreserve.wisc.edu

Honeysuckle vines spill over the fence, falling like a fountain, cascades of bright green.
The white flowers in my grandmother's backyard look like tiny, delicate bells
I tenderly bring the clear drop of nectar to my lips, tasting its sweetness
The sweetness of childhood, innocence.

Pumping my legs on Gramma's wooden swing, gripping its thick ropes
Hanging from the old, wise oak tree with branches stretching to the sky
I look up at him in wonder while I swing
Watching my own feet as they propel me higher and higher
My hair swings back to slap my face each time, a quick sting like a bee.

I'm wearing white socks folded down once with my brown sandals
I can see the light brown hair on my legs, the scar on my right knee
From when I fell off my bike the year before.

this was not taken on that day, but you can see my sandals with socks
my beautiful mom, & my younger brother, "Markie"

My mom does headstands on the old blanket in the middle of the yard, making us laugh.
She is thin, beautiful, talented, full of fun and light. Her feet are bare.
I can't stand on my head. But she can do everything.
And her feet are much prettier than mine.

I don't take off my shoes after I swing--
The St. Augustine grass is rough and crunchy and makes my ankles itch.

Now:
Can I make myself new again?
Can I start over, a slate wiped clean?
Innocent like that day in the backyard.
It's time for a swing.

1.2.11

Evolution & Revolution

As many of you know, I've been working on a new blog. It's close to completion and I'm beyond excited. I've been stripping down, baring my soul and blending the old with the new in many ways.

The Mother Load is evolving. I'm takin' it to the next level, ya'll.

This video clip was taken in December, but I wanted to wait to share it until my new blog was almost ready. Thanks to Lee and Tracie for filming it and going with me! This day was monumental and marked a significant change in my way of thinking. The tattoo embodies the inspiration behind my tag line: The Road to My Writer Roots. New Orleans is my home, where so much happened to me. It's my heart, where I write from. And now I carry it with me on my right hip---a glorious fleur de lis that makes my father want to curl up and die.




You can view the finished product in a post here.

30.1.11

Lies & 1 Truth

The glorious Tulpen Elefanten of Bad Words tagged me in her Memetastic post. Since I haven't done anything fun here in a while according to The Father Load , I'm going to participate.

Here's the poop scoop on this game/meme, according to Tulpen:

You must list 5 things about yourself; 4 of them must be bold-faced lies. Just make some shit up, we'll never know; one of them has to be true, though. Of course, nobody will ever know the difference, so we're just on the honor system here. I trust you. Except for the 4 you lied about, you lying bastards! But don't go crazy trying to think of stuff as we're not really interested in quality here. Then you must pass this on to 5 bloggers.

Now for the 4 lies and a truth:

1. When I was six my baby brother, Kevin, was born and I was super jealous. My parents had just given me this book with its all-too-vivid illustrations of two cartoon characters doing the sex:

image courtesy of Amazon.com

So I asked my brother, Mark, who was four at the time, to help me in my pregnancy endeavors. I ordered him to lie on top of me (I bossed him & he did everything I said) so we could make a baby STAT. He did, we snorted and giggled, and then I told him we were all done. Needless to say, no baby was made that day.

2.) As I was going through security at Nashville airport yesterday, I got stopped because I forgot to put my Poo Potpourri in a ziploc bag. I was mortified, but the TSA guy just chuckled and shook his head,  then handed it back to me.
image courtesy of http://poopourri.com/

3.) I brought The Father Load's giant suitcase to Blissdom and sweated like a pig hauling it through the Gaylord Opryland. What's up with calling it Gaylord, anyway? I always overpack. It's silly because why was I trying to dress to impress 600+ women and four men? I got lost approximately 22 times in 72 hours. I can't read maps. The highlight of the conference? When KLZ (Taming Insanity) ate my banana. Ooooooh. That was HAWT.
 
Photobucket
image courtesy of photobucket.com

4.) I'm hopelessly in love with Natalie Portman. I loved her in Black Swan. Because apparently I'm all dark, heavy, and twisty like that. But aren't many writers born out of dark and twisty lives like Sylvia Plath who stuck her head in the oven?

Photobucket
images courtesy of Google.com

5.) These are my feet:

image courtesy of Google.com

I've chosen to pass this nonsense along to these lucky ladies (who you should be following, DUH):
1.) Terri Sonoda (@Tsonoda)
2.) Snuggle Wasteland (@MsWasteland)
3.) Totally Ovar It (@TotallyOvarIt)
4.) Taming Insanity (@TamingInsanity)
5.) Crayon Wrangler (@CrayonWrangler)


Cheers!

27.1.11

I Just Have a Soul Full of Ladybugs.

inspired by a prompt yesterday via Blissdom Wisdom Workshops

I just have... wildflowers in my heart

I just have... poetry pouring out of a hole in my head.

I just have... eyes that are puffy from tears I hold back. Or the tears I can't.

I just have....love etched on my arms.

I just have... a soul full of ladybugs, butterflies, and songbirds.



I just have....aching, papery skin that shrinks away from touch.

I just have...fireworks of longing going off inside me, hues of purple, pink, and orange.

I just have...spiderwebs in places that I've left closed off for years.

I just have...a stomach that stays knotted up like some old rope on a ship.

I just have...an empty womb where swan songs were once sung.

I just have...a heaviness that's too big to hold.

I just have...brown eyes that want to see inside you, see if you're real.

I just have...an angry tendency to compare.

I just have...so much love for others, yet so little for myself.

26.1.11

Dude, Where's My Blog?

So I'm here.
At Blissdom. In Nashville.
All I can say is?

It's eleven kinds of awesome.

Part of me feels like I don't belong here
Amongst all these super smart people.
(This is not just the low-brow Chardonnay talking)

I have a lot of work to do
But I need your help.
That means honest input, critiques, and comments.

I cannot be objective about my own work. I can't step away.

I'm afraid. Afraid of my writing, afraid of myself.
Afraid that my life will be reduced to getting crunk at cronferences.
Just dreaming about the writer I could be.
Instead of taking chances---submitting posts for publication and not caring whether "they" accept something or not. Have to keep trying. Practicing.

I'm afraid of saying things. Things that will alienate you.
Things that might even scare me. I'm not sure what's underneath,
This dinosaur buried in the rubble. I'm chipping away slowly,
Because fear is a dirty fool.

But I am still here.
It's a first step.

I love you all.
Thank you for reading.
There are no real words.
I am grateful and scared and humbled here.
I will never be a "big blogger," but I don't wanna be.
I wanna be the girl next door. Who's a writer.
Who you love to stop by and read.

Because that is who I am.

24.1.11

I dream of...

I've been inspired by Liz an awful lot lately. She evokes such powerful feelings in me, yet does so using very few words. Please stop by her place and read for a spell. You can follow her on Twitter at @ArtemisRetreats.


I dream of...
Writing incredible things
Of reading and swooning over words on a page.
Of black ink on my fingers and pages full of my messy handwriting.

I struggle every day to
Coax my words out,
I {try to} stare down Fear
Look him in the eye
Directly, without faltering
And say,
"Fuck you."

I struggle every day to
Shove aside Worry
I push away from his tears and frowns.

I struggle every day to
Ignore the malicious whispers in my head
And pray to the Gods of Inspiration instead

I struggle every day with the knowledge that
You will read me only when you feel like it
And you may not like what I write.
But that's not the point.

The point is that I had the guts to put it out there.
 

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