Ann Minnett, Author

I was driving down snow-covered Star Meadow Road Monday morning in a slight panic. I dug blindly in my bag for the list of Christmas gifts to buy and errands to complete in between yoga, a meeting at 11:30, dinner with a friend at 5:30 (we’re old), and finally another meeting at 6:30. Mustn’t forget to drop off my critique pages at Marie’s, I thought. Now where was that pen I stashed in the console… I’m retired. We live near a resort town that currently looks like a tranquil Christmas card. How can I be this busy? Star Meadow Road  – Photo courtesy of Mike Coleman A huge bird—a golden eagle—flew over my car, filling the windshield and making me flinch. His flapping wings appeared jointed in five places each and nearly spanned the narrow road. He flew low and slowly in front of my moving car, hunting along Star Meadow Road the way I’ve seen eagles follow rivers. We traveled at 30 mph, swooping downhill for a mile or more until he banked to the right, and I lost him in snow-laden

I attended a women’s retreat on the banks of beautiful Flathead Lake yesterday. About sixty of us discussed spirituality in all its loose forms and how we might demonstrate our personal beliefs in daily life. I was struck by the importance of writing in the process. We wrote letters to ourselves to be opened at next year’s retreat, and time to journal was built into the schedule. As soon as I could print, I recorded my thoughts and feelings on paper. I’ll reread all my old journals one day, and for that implausible reason I can’t bring myself to burn or toss them. All those intimate self-revelations are part of me. Truthfully, sometimes I don’t know what I think until I write it down. One Saturday among women from all backgrounds reinforced my belief that my writing today started with journaling. My work represents far more than stories. It represents what I have to give back. ~ Ann (First appeared on montanawomenwriters.com )

Burden of Breath is FREE Oct 19 & 20 4.2 stars in 148 reviews! Still reeling from her traumatic past, Hannah must assume guardianship of a young child. Can she break free from the cycle of violence and teach her heart to love?

Serita’s Shelf Life is a FREE download on Amazon Oct 16 & 17 Serita goes off her brain-numbing medication—again—to become a more interesting person and find love. And it works… for a while. 

My sister, Ginny Merett, is an artist. I can’t describe all the media in which she works, but my favorites are her watercolors and haunting collages. Here is something fun she made for me when I got serious about writing. The Storyteller doll is holding two babies, recounting her tale. I keep it on my desk as a reminder that I am a storyteller and how lovely it is to have a sister, talented or otherwise. The Storyteller has held my business cards, interestingly shaped rocks from a hike, you name it. For the past few weeks she’s displayed this “Never Apologize for Your Art” pin. When I begin to censor an authentic thought or expression while writing, The Storyteller’s message keeps me on my path. Both of my novels will be offered as free downloads in the coming days: Burden of Breath is free on October 19 th & 20 th (4.2 average stars in 148 reviews). Serita’s Shelf Life will be free this week on October 16 th & 17 th (only 3 5-star reviews so fa

Serita's Shelf Life is now available in print from Amazon or Createspace:  https://www.createspace.com/4936297   

Now available as an ebook from Amazon. The print version is forthcoming.

Many of our group will be writing about pets this month. I have featured dogs in each of my three novels because having a dog is a quality of life issue.  Meet Boone to the Bone, our new Aussie. Who wouldn’t love this face? We sure do, and it’s a good thing, too. In the 25 years since we last had a puppy, a woman can forget their lightning speed and curiosity, not to mention needle puppy teeth. My thin-skinned arms look like I’ve been in a knife fight. He could live 15 years. We did the math. Holy cow! He will keep us moving throughout the rest of his and our lives. (This post previously appeared on montanawomenwriters.com)

Burden of Breath will be a free download on Amazon August 6th and 7th! Check out the 4.3 average stars for 142 reviews.

I tried, Twitter. I really tried. But my feed contains too much crap to wade through. I don’t read the book endorsements of authors I don’t know--I suspect no one else does either—and that was my sole reason for becoming a Twit. It’s too much! A writer friend recently posted (on FaceBook and I assume on Twitter) this paraphrased question: Do your fellow writers spam you with Twitter posts about their books? Yes, they do. Twitter works for those much more savvy than I about managing content and sharing. For me the quantity represents Garbage in, garbage out . So I withdraw once again to rely on trusted literary websites, random FaceBook posts , and this blog. I wonder if I should post this on Twitter?

One of the few one-star ratings Burden of Breath received on Amazon came from a reader incensed that I had not included a “trigger warning” in the story summary. The outraged reader’s review didn’t use that label, but within weeks the term caused a lot of controversy in the media. Some universities had mandated warnings that the literary content in reading lists might trigger traumatic memories. My reader righted my omission and detailed the entire story in her review. Every detail. Apparently, the reader wasn’t too traumatized to finish the novel. I stop reading anything that offends or bores me. How about you?

Courtesy: Whitefish Convention & Tourism Bureau There are two seasons in NW Montana: winter and construction. July is the first month of construction, aka glorious summer—quite a jolt to our economy and to the locals’ daily life. The temperatures warm enough to permit road repairs, and all the work must be done in a hurry. Meanwhile, walking-jogging-biking-hiking tourists flood our small town until the end of August. My home town is your vacation destination.   I like to watch summer visitors from a deli with a window-facing counter onto Central Avenue. Visitors saunter past within arm’s reach. Young parents herd small children, reminding me that disturbing a little person’s routine on vacation can be a hassle for the whole family. Small groups of women schlep shopping bags with logos from familiar shops. I recognize myself among them, driven to find the perfect earrings in each vacation spot. I wonder at the outfits they will pair with Montana-made bead and bear earrings

I’ve been away for a couple of months editing and preparing my second novel for publication by the end of July 2014. Serita’s Shelf Life . I’m back to writing routines with a new sense of purpose and determination. So much has happened: a new grandson, a new puppy, many successes of fellow authors, and SUMMER has arrived in NW Montana. More to come. Thanks for hanging in there with me!

I have two thoughts on July 4 th . One of the best memories of my childhood occurred every year on the Fourth of July. The University of Denver set off spectacular fireworks that could be seen for miles. We did not park the car along the old Valley Highway or in the University Hills Shopping Center parking lot to view the show. My family climbed onto the roof of our post-war bungalow and stretched out on the still warm shingles in the cool evening to watch the fireworks shoot over our heads. My husband returns from a 10-day raft trip in Idaho this July 4 th . I’m writing this during the six days in which we have no phone or internet contact. Good grief! My daughter spent a year in Afghanistan, and thanks to satellite phones, we chatted every few days. I’ve spent most of my life without cell phones, Google or Twitter, so radio silence with my husband seems oddly peaceful before the storm. I look forward to The Fourth. He’ll have a week’s adventures to share, and so will I. He doe

          Normally I wouldn't take the Vespa out on North Central Expressway. Wouldn't push to its top speed of fifty-nine mph, challenging the drunks and lovers who careen the highways at 2:00 a.m. Normally. Tonight they pass on my left and right, swaying my scooter in their vortexes. Two sets of headlights approach from behind like my Vespa stands still. One flashes its brights, and the one in my lane signals, changing lanes at the last second. They pass simultaneously, eighteen wheelers racing for the Oklahoma border and a payday. The force of their passing wobbles my lovely Portofino Green Vespa, and my armpits sweat painfully the way my taste buds hurt when I look at pineapple upside down cake. For that second, whatever it is that haunts me poofs , and I breathe deeply with the joy of survival. Then it's there again. A void. I'll take side streets through nice neighborhoods toward home. I'll smell the lush plants of late summer while they take a breather

A writer friend sent me this quote, encouraging me to disregard the internal censor that second-guesses what I write.                 It's a simple formula: Do your best and somebody might like it. --Dorothy Baker   I think, Here’s a topic for my April blog post! It is approximately 8:50 a.m. Who is Dorothy Baker? I google her. Sure enough, Ms. Baker was a novelist in the mid-20 th century and wrote: Cassandra at the Wedding , Young Man with a Horn , and Trio. She enjoyed both success and some notoriety. Scanning photos of multiple Dorothy Bakers, one looks like a writer but further searches reveal her to be a missionary. Finally, I’m certain that the fuzzy photo at right is Dorothy Baker, Novelist. It is now 9:49 a.m. The Google entry following Novelist Dorothy Baker is Dorothy Baker, Madam—different women, but both were born in Montana and lived at about the same time. Dorothy Baker #2, aka Big Dorothy, was the last madam to operate a brothel in Helena, Montana

  I have found yoga, friends. And rather than beat myself up for not beginning my practice decades ago, I am so grateful to have found it at all. I completed a questionnaire at my first session. It asked me for basic information about myself, injuries that might affect my practice, and the ubiquitous Where did you hear about us? I answered Word of mouth, but the truth was this: I had seen two of their instructors on the main street of our little town and thought, I want what those gorgeous, unfussy, healthy women have. Every woman I know who practices yoga walks with a grace and purpose. As with any new endeavor, there was much more to be gained than firmed batwings and good posture. I’ve learned the value of meditation. What used to be a waste of time (Let’s get on with the task at hand!), has become my favorite time of day. After practice, meditation is the tingly relief of a quiet body. At home it has become a time of being, listening, and sometimes prayer. My 21 mile

Did you look back over the events of 2013 and reflect about their significance? About where you go from here? I did, and not too far into the process, had to narrow my focus to those events that affected me personally. (Others can ponder the government shutdown and how it affected all of us.) I was surprised at how much change occurred in one year and how little of that change I intended. What hadn’t changed was my waning memory, so I relied on weekly letters that I wrote and shared with my mentor. Throughout the year I responded to a few questions about the previous week. Where have I been resentful? Selfish? Have I been of service? How are my relationships with family and friends? What did I do well? Where was I pleased? I loved reflecting and writing about the week because it revealed my emotional/spiritual well-being and what needed work. My mentor read and commented on each week’s letter, pointing out the obvious and ‘suggesting’ alternatives. I love her because she’s h

We live in a snow belt, 21 miles from the nearest town. Our property butts up against the Flathead National Forest, so it seems as though we own thousands and thousands of acres. What I see from my office window this morning: three feet of snow, forest, and higher mountains to the west. And it’s snowing.     I thrive in the quiet, the isolation, and even the long dark nights of Montana’s winter—great ambiance for writing. However, we are far from alone up here. An amazing community of like-minded folks has sprung up within a mile radius. Some of us are year-rounders, some not. We have neighborhood gatherings, and we leave each other alone. We are self-sufficient, and we help one another. We are retired seniors, and some are just starting families. Coming from the big city where I knew the couples who lived on either side of our house and no one else (until I had a garage sale before moving), our community both worries and delights me. I find solitude and a close spiritual