by HDJ Board Member, Stacy Boe Miller

When you ask my earliest memory, I would say it’s of riding the Amtrack from Cheyenne, Wyoming, to Chicago. I remember running around the cars and the beds we slept in. I also remember a room below the train we visited. Wait. What? This cannot be. Trains don’t have basements.

The truth is, I was only three when we rode this train. I probably don’t remember any of it. However, the story has been told of the train ride so many times in my life, that I feel the memories are mine. Except that pesky basement on the train that sits in my thoughts more like a dream I had.

On the flip side, my whole family remembers a fiery incident involving my sister and a hunting rifle. The whole family, except my sister.

Memory can be a murky place. Does the truth mean anything when we visit memory, or are made-up memories as meaningful as real ones? Who can be trusted with our stories if not us? Does it matter?

Write about a memory not agreed upon. A memory you swear is yours, but it’s somehow impossible. Something someone remembers about you that you have no recollection of. A story you’ve heard so many times, you aren’t sure if you remember the event or if you’ve just soaked it inside your story. Explore a story with murky memory in mind.

Stacy Boe Miller grew up in a small town in Wyoming near the Black Hills. She currently lives in northern Idaho. Stacy is a poet and nonfiction writer, and received her MFA from the University of Idaho. Her work can be found in Northwest Review, River Teeth's Beautiful Things, Terrain.org, Copper Nickel, and other journals. She currently serves as the Poet Laureate of the city of Moscow. Find out more at stacyboemiller.com.