The New “I Am” . . . Series


I’ve been thinking of a new series to post and occasionally when I have spare writing time, or, if I have the dreaded writer’s block, I turn to my favourite writing book by Natalie Goldberg, “Old Friend from Far Away.” This is a wonderful compilation of writing teachings, as well a great book of writing prompts given to stimulate our creativity. The prompts in this series relate to ” I am thinking of, I am remembering, etc. I think you get the drift.


These are exercises to get our creative juices flowing and prompt us to write about the first thing that comes to our mind in a five or ten minute writing allowance time. The idea is to keep the pen flowing, without stopping to second-guess your thoughts. We start out writing about something in particular, and we then let the thought carry on to wherever it may lead.

Some of you may remember I wrote a post about a year ago based on these writing prompts, titled The Pink Basket. If you’d like to read it, here is the link

I have a few pages of these writings that are waiting to be shared. It’s interesting to find that whatever happens to be hanging out around our subconscious  at the time of writing, becomes a story.

Todays post is about, I am Thinking about a Suitcase

how we write


As I took stock of the state of my luggage, in preparation for my next vacation, I realized the ravaged condition of the zipper and the frayed corners of my suitcase from the numerous whippings it had taken through the careless attitudes of luggage handlers at numerous airports I had traveled through.

I remember the many trips now, my mother took without me as a child, and how I’d cry myself to sleep in her absence. She was barely ever home, as her life was an eternal mission to seek fun and adventure, and attention from others.

I had yet to realize these things about my mother, being that I was only about seven at the time. I had yet to grow resentful of her absence in my life, physically and emotionally. All that mattered to me at that age was that my mother was once again going away, and I wouldn’t have my mommy.

I wasn’t yet aware that I had never really had my mommy, but the implication that I had a mother still remained in my existence. And in case I may have needed her to kiss something better if I was to get hurt, or on the off-chance that she may have stayed home just one odd evening to perhaps watch a movie with me, I knew my hope would have to carry on much longer, until she returned once again, and hopefully would spend some time with me.

©D.G. Kaye May 2015