DeEtta Miller
Bio
Found my "Voice" as a college student of forty-seven. Once a memoir was written, fiction, poetry and non-fiction became my passions.
Achievements (1)
Stories (32/0)
- Top Story - March 2024
Dear MomTop Story - March 2024
Dear Mom (An open letter to my 1950’s mother) By: De Etta Miller Dear Mom, I’m not sure if this letter is for you or for me. But decades after your leaving, I feel the need to say: “I’m sorry.” I don’t know that I even believe in Heaven. I can only assume, that which was taught throughout my childhood might have some validity. Perhaps we all find the truth of our afterlife when it is indeed time for an afterlife. But what I do know and believe in, is how hard and yet delightful motherhood can be.
By DeEtta Millerabout a month ago in Families
Tonight At Ten
Tonight At Ten Bring the Corkscrew By: DeEtta Miller Our dream cabin was supposed to be a new beginning. Laced with quiet moments under stars, toasting our escape from humanity. Ted and I had been married for what felt like a lifetime. He promised, as we signed the sales contract, that his binge drinking, and emotional distance would be healed by the wilderness and solitude on the shore of a small pond.
By DeEtta Miller2 months ago in Fiction
- Runner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge
With Just A TouchRunner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge
I have about an hour before they pull the switch on what was once a very ingenious and lucrative career. My name is Barnard Oliver, or Barn Owliver, a moniker courtesy of the town’s youth who would come to me for advice. They said I “had an answer for everything.” That I was as wise as an owl. A persona I encouraged, to abate my deep loneliness living with an enigma of a father.
By DeEtta Miller2 years ago in Fiction
- Top Story - December 2021
Life As A TeacherTop Story - December 2021
She had been gone six months, but I grieved as if she had left my life overnight. Mother’s reticence and insecurity made her an enigma to her daughter of almost fifty years. We rarely spoke. Her journey through pain, my struggles to survive, and our shared nightmare resonated as the echo of our existence together.
By DeEtta Miller2 years ago in Education
- Top Story - December 2021
We Girls Have to Stick TogetherTop Story - December 2021
I was sure I would recognize her when I saw her. Philip has a “type.” I already know her name is Bridget. She also described herself in great detail on the phone, which made me even more agitated than I was before we made our lunch date. We didn’t do the usual “you’ll know me by the white carnation” crap. She just said, “I’ll be the one who’s eight months pregnant.” That should be easy enough to spot. Especially in an out of the way truck stop diner. This greasy spoon would not have been my first choice for our meeting, but I couldn’t risk being spotted by anyone who knew my husband, or by my husband for that matter.
By DeEtta Miller2 years ago in Fiction