After the craziness of BEA, I needed to relax. Which, for me, means having an adventure. A non-writing-related adventure, I suppose—because BEA was certainly an adventure in its own way.

Since no abandoned/haunted houses have recently popped up in Vegas (at least, none that I know of—and if someone reading this has heard of one, please send me a message) I settled for a desert exploration adventure.

And it was good timing, because we have some new weirdness in the Mojave.

Seven Magic Mountains.

I guess winter is over. Despite it being February, we’re having 80 degree days.

I’m really not ready to pack up my winter clothes. I hardly even got a chance to wear boots this year! But if we’re going to have gorgeous spring weather, I might as well take advantage of it. (Especially considering that a month from now, it’ll probably be too hot to leave the house. Sigh.)

So, the first hike of the season. Corn Creek (Desert National Wildlife Range):

When people ask me what it’s like to live in Las Vegas I roll my eyes and say, Ugh. Tourists. I say, Neon lights everywhere. I say, Summer days hot enough to break thermometers.

I tell people that Las Vegas lacks culture, but then I mention The Smith Center with its marble and polished wood and Broadway shows.

I make jokes about the casinos, but then say I live out in the suburbs, surrounded by old ranches and mountain ridges.

I don’t gamble and I’ve never set foot in a night club, but I’m quick to gush about the beauty of Red Rock and Mt. Charleston.

What I’m saying is, I complain about Las Vegas, but I love it too.

Last night I went to dinner with my best friend.

And we started talking about that time we went to Death Valley on a quest to find the legendary Barker Ranch.

For those unfamiliar with it, Barker Ranch was the last hideout of Charles Manson before his arrest. It’s in a remote area of Death Valley, only accessible by 4-wheel drive.

It used to be the biggest town in Nevada. That was a long time ago, when there was still gold in the hills. Now it’s a nothing place, a dusty town you might accidently drive 

It's not that writer's block is unfamiliar to me. But usually it takes a different form than it has with my most recent short story.