Ann Minnett, Author

Can you see the man fishing? He passed us on our hike at Many Glacier last weekend when we stopped to pick thimbleberries on the trail. I paid attention to him because he reminded me of a man I used to work with. We nodded, and he was gone. Just before Red Rock Falls, there he was--wading in knee-deep water and casting into the afternoon sun. He likely focused on the water, the rippling surface, the Zen of fishing. I have no idea what he caught, if anything other than my attention. The motion of his fly rod, floppy cap, his resemblance to an old friend, all anchored the majestic scenery. He had no objective view of himself in the solitary act of fishing. He might not care, but I wish I knew his name. I'd send him this memento, my memory.

Exciting times around here writing-wise. First, I've scheduled two free download days for Burden of Breath on September 12th and Friday the 13th (for good luck). More about that in a later post. Most important, the first draft of my second book is done. Whew! Now the real work begins. Writers will tell you that they come to know their characters by the end of the first draft. I totally get that. Although I had a vision for the new book, it wasn't until a third of the way through that I created elaborate character studies. It helped, and certainly I won't wait so long next time to lay that foundation, but my characters still changed by the end. Now that I know Serita and a few minor characters that simply must have greater voices in the story, I can't wait to rewrite it. And so the fun begins!

The title says it all:  You'll never see me sitting behind a card table selling a stack of my books. It's akin to not being asked to dance at the eighth grade graduation party and trying to appear just fine with sitting alone in the bleachers. Why set myself up for the imagined face-to-face rejection? And there we have it. I predict rejection where others have higher expectations. A friend recently completed a book tour of Western Montana - she prefers to call it a drive-about where she visited friends and family along the way, set up in community centers or churches, greeted folks, and sold some books. I'd like to be her when I grow up. But for now, I drive around with four copies of my novel in the back of my Subaru (note the dust) in case someone spontaneously asks to buy my book. My marketing plan needs work.

Note to writer self: Fiction is not real life. I love my main characters—mostly flawed women who make life hard for themselves. Far from spunky ingénues, my ladies have been around the block, gained some wisdom, and made bad choices. Fictional real women. I identified with Hannah and even the unlikable Nina in my novel, Burden of Breath . I lived with these two fragile companions for years while outlining and contemplating their story. When it got right down to the writing, my instinct was to protect them from hardship and heartache. Thank heavens my critique group and others routinely saved me from myself in this regard, reminding that my novel was fiction, and fictional characters encounter roadblocks. Lots of ‘em. Interesting fictional characters lead bumpy lives fraught with problems because easy lives bore the reader. Think about a favorite novel. Notice how the main character’s goal is thwarted in both tragic and benign ways? For example: • Gossip keeps two lovers apart. ...

Many persons, places and things inspire me, but the constant in all is my need for solitude to process them. Notice and observe. Appreciate and learn. Aspire. As a girl, I physically removed myself in order to find solitude in awe-inspiring landscapes. I’d often disappear over the hill to perch on a boulder and write in my diary, an old soul at age seven. Once I got my license, I’d sneak off alone to Red Rocks Amphitheater—back then it was unfenced and open to the public 24/7—to ponder the expanse of Denver’s lights from the last row of benches. The enormity of possibility thrilled me then as it does now when I count the seven layers of mountains between me and Glacier National Park. An ability to find solitude regardless of my surroundings came as a gift in adulthood. I now understand that the small has no less potential for inspiration than the huge. Lately, I’ve narrowed my focus, literally and figuratively, in photographing nature. I’m inspired by the complexity of si...