By Kathy Pham

It has been a little over a month since my end-of-the-year project as a Nevada Humanities intern: creating and leading the community program, Phoetry Night, which celebrated AAPI heritage through a conversation between a local Vietnamese restaurant owner, Vinh Nguyen, and UNLV professor and principal researcher of the Neon Pacific Initiative, Mark Padoongpatt; free pho sampling; and poetry performances and a creative writing activity led by local AAPI creatives Mei-Mei Mijares and Niko Mendoza. As I look back on my time at Nevada Humanities, I am forever grateful to be granted the opportunity to delve deeper into the vibrant AAPI community of Las Vegas and how they celebrate culture and the humanities.

At the program, we sampled bowls of special combination pho, courtesy of Vinh Nguyen and his team at Pho Vegas. Vinh, the newest owner of Pho Vegas, shared his many stories and what led him to where he is today, shaping Pho Vegas to be awarded as one of the 2025 Top Three Vietnamese Restaurants in Las Vegas. He shared his many challenges when he was working to earn his two degrees, and the many doubts he faced while being a restaurant owner, but all in all he never gave up and persevered through passion and hard work.

Mei Mei and Niko’s poetry performances tugged at my heartstrings, combining both humor and raw human emotion. Growing up, I experienced similar expressions of love from my family through home-cooked meals and dinner talks. Food is such an important part of AAPI culture, where it is notoriously difficult to receive words of affirmation or physical touch from family members, despite knowing that they loved us dearly. I loved hearing their unique poems and the welcoming space that allowed other attendees to share what food means to them.

Along with creating this event, I also had the chance to interview other Vietnamese chefs so they could share their stories and bring a voice to the hardworking restaurant industry of Vegas. I first had the pleasure of interviewing Tan Vo, the restaurant owner of Pho Viet Cafe. His restaurant first started in Bend, Oregon, where it was voted the Number One Asian Restaurant of the year. In 2008, during the housing crash and as individuals lost their jobs, Bend’s economy collapsed. But because of that reason, Tan decided to move to Bend to open his restaurant and share his cooking to comfort the community. Taking this risk allowed Pho Viet Cafe to thrive somewhere unconventional. After 14 years, he sold his restaurant to his good friend. Tan and Tammy, his wife and restaurant partner, then moved to Las Vegas, where he has resided for the last three years.

During his time as a restaurant owner, Tan has always stayed determined and positive. “Always so proud to be an Asian American,” Tan says. “My personal target is to come to the United States of America to try for a new life, to prove to the American people that we, Asian, Vietnamese Americans — if you can do it, I can do it. If I’m not doing better, maybe I’ll do equal, maybe a little bit less, but I will do all my best.” I asked if he has faced any challenges while being an Asian American, to which Tan replied, “Not at all … you need to offer love to others. You always smile and respect, and with that in mind, you get very good results.” His perspective showed the love and care he puts into his cooking and business, and it is no wonder that many return to Pho Viet Cafe for the sheer comfort and hospitality.

Tan shared with me one of his greatest memories that has inspired his perspective of sharing love and receiving good karma. In Bend, when he was building his new restaurant, he had spent almost his last dollar on the place for the grand opening. Unfortunately, they failed the final inspection on a tiny electrical issue, preventing them from opening and postponing a secondary inspection until another week. Knowing they had already prepped and stocked the food, it would all go bad if they couldn’t open in time. Amidst the distraught, Tan had a plan in mind. He gathered his documents and went to the city manager himself. “I know you guys are so excited for the first brand new Vietnamese restaurant to open here. And I said, it’s likely not gonna happen, unless each of you lends me $500,” Tan remarks. After explaining his situation, with only having $108 left in his bank account, they agreed to hear him out and see what they could do. Eventually, they organized for an electrician to fix the issue, and they were willing to re-inspect at 9 pm so they could open the next day. “Let me say, many years in America, I never heard anybody in the city working after hours.” At 9:30 pm, they fortunately passed the test, and Tan recalls it as one of his most wonderful memories and a gift that he cherishes from the Bend community.

I also had the chance to speak with Ngan, a chef at Pho Bac Bac. She only knew how to speak Vietnamese, but I did not want a language barrier to get in the way of someone sharing their story, so thankfully, I had the help of my mother as a translator. Ngan moved from Vietnam to Massachusetts and has been living in Las Vegas for three years. One of the challenges she faced was the struggle to learn English, but overall, she has been thankful for the many opportunities that America provided for her, such as being more open and providing better job opportunities to support their families.

Ngan had been cooking in the restaurant for two and a half years, but actually started cooking for her family around 13 years old, and cited her mother as a role model who gave her lots of experience. When I asked about the pressure to change recipes to suit the tastes of American customers, Ngan mentioned that she pushes for Americans to try traditional Vietnamese dishes, day by day. The number one thing she learned from the restaurant industry was that despite the stress, she prioritizes the happiness of the customer and sharing her cooking; so as long as they were happy, she was as well. Finally, I asked how Ngan believed Southern Nevada could become more inclusive and supportive of Asian Americans. When compared to bigger churches and religious holidays, she wishes for the Buddhist temples to grow bigger and expand their community and freedoms, as well as improve safety for Asian Americans to protect against AAPI-targeted violence. Overall, I was thankful for Ngan’s time and patience, as she was excited to share her story despite her busy schedule and language efforts.

I greatly enjoyed my time as a Nevada Humanities intern, and I feel like I got to learn a lot more about the AAPI community in Las Vegas. Asian Americans in the restaurant industry have deservedly been receiving more recognition now than ever. Interviewing these individuals and spotlighting Pho Vegas at my Phoetry Night event allowed me to learn more about the Asian American community. AAPI individuals are often stereotyped and perceived to be passive, keeping their heads down, and known as the “silent” model minority, but my internship at Nevada Humanities has reinforced the importance of storytelling and giving a voice to those who usually may not get the chance to speak. I am grateful for the Neon Pacific Initiative and the great work they are doing to uplift and share the tales of Asian Americans in Southern Nevada. Learning about the backgrounds of these diverse communities is essential to the humanities and understanding the human experience.

I would love to keep spreading these hard-working individuals’ stories of perseverance and faith, whether that be by fostering connections or bringing the community together through sharing, learning, and programming. After Phoetry Night, I hope to have left attendees with a greater sense of community and belonging, and I can’t wait to see Nevada Humanities’ future programming.

Kathy Pham is a third-year sociology student at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, and recently served as an Events Intern for Nevada Humanities. Kathy enjoys working with nonprofit organizations to make an impact in her community and uplift marginalized voices. She is passionate about the AAPI community, women’s rights, education, and mental health. In her free time, she enjoys spending time with friends and family and trying new foods.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

This blog post is generously provided in kind by Angela M. Brommel. The Double Down blog is also supported by Nevada Humanities’ donors.

By Angela M. Brommel

After nearly twenty-five years as a Nevada resident and poet, recently my poems moved from the landscape to the sky. My earliest poems came from first experiences hiking in the desert after moving here from the Midwest. It makes sense that for many years I was looking down at what was new, what might be dangerous if I didn’t pay attention.

Every day there are so many reasons to look down. I look down so that I don’t trip on the stairs. I look down at my phone because hardly anyone calls anymore when a text is so easy. When I walk with my dog, Emma, I look down to see the world through her eyes. One of my greatest joys is watching her happiness while she does dog things like rolling in the clover.

Late fall I was at an outdoor event in Henderson when I heard someone mention a paraglider. Instead of looking down at my feet, down at my phone, or down at someone else’s cute dog, I looked up and caught a man crossing the sky in a powered paraglider.

In the Greek story of Icarus and Daedalus, the son and father escape being imprisoned by King Minos by creating wings from bird feathers, bits of clothing, and bees wax. I still remember how my high school Latin teacher peered over her glasses as she emphasized that Icarus fell from the sky because he didn’t listen to his father. Even if this story is unknown, the phrase “too close to the sun” is still used to suggest that we guard ourselves against reaching for or being too much.

But facing the McCullough Range at sunset, that old story quickly dissipated for me. There are times when the resistance to your desire to fly should be ignored because the unknown could lead to unimaginable beauty. If you can choose that happiness no matter the heaviness of the day, you are returning to the thing that grants you flight.

Gazing up

You see a man on a powered hang glider against the McCullough Range
as the sun sets, imagining him coming home at the end of the day
foot on pedal, impatient, wanting only to fly again.

All day long the people are people-ing so hard it feels impossible
to breathe sometimes. The only free place left is in the sky.
The man passes between two black peaks, crossing

a neon pink and azure sky. The children in their houses,
after a long ride on the school bus and another packaged snack,
hear the sound outside like a lawnmower in the clouds.

They run to the yard asking, how is this possible? Unlike the dreams
where we run as fast as we can, flap our arms or furiously part
the air with a heavy breaststroke, this man lifts into the sky with ease.

Universe, hear us down here bearing the weight of too much humanness.

Make us light like the flying descendants of dinosaurs. Make us light
like our neighbor who has found a way to leave it all behind,
albeit briefly, one bright flight at a time.

Angela M. Brommel is a Nevada writer with Iowa roots, and the recent past Clark County Poet Laureate. She is the author of Mojave in July (Tolsun Books) and Plutonium & Platinum Blond (Serving House Books). At The Citron Review, she serves as Editor-in-Chief and Poetry Editor. To learn more about Angela M. Brommel visit angelambrommel.com.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

By Jesse James Ziegler

I recently had the opportunity to be interviewed and share some poetry on the Spoken Views Radio Hour, hosted by Griffin Peralta on the local 97.7 FM KWNK station, as an exit interview of sorts, for my tenure as City of Reno Poet Laureate. Two years seemed to fly by in a blink, until I sat down and deeply reflected on everything that was packed into my seven hundred and thirty days, holding the honorary role for the Biggest Little City in the World. Thank you, Griffin and KWNK Radio for giving me a foundational outline to build upon for this blog post. This is not an exhaustive list of worthwhile questions, amazing events, glorious organizations, inspiring individuals, and much deserved flowers, but it’s a hearty attempt. I’m easy to find if you’d like to talk more on any subject of interest.

What’s your process? How do you literally write a poem?

Notes App or journal entry. A lot of prompt writing. I always have something with me to write with and write on. I usually start off with some sort of inspiration, like a title or a first line, and build from there.

Why do you make art? What effect do you hope it has on the audience?

Catharsis. Connection. Community. I hope others feel safe, heard, seen, not-so-alone, and uniquely valued.

What inspires you to write? What might you encounter that would make you want to write?

Songs, podcasts, books, memes, films, photography, anniversaries, special events, legacy moments, sermons, prayers, conversations, dreams, visions, other artwork, death and dying, grief and loss, celebrations of life, online prompts, workshop prompts, and other creatives.

What sort of events have you participated in or exhibited your poetry at that you felt were memorable?

Nevada Humanities Literary Crawl, Inaugural Truckee Lit Crawl, Inaugural and 2nd Annual Tahoe Literary Festival, Mark Twain Days, Las Vegas Book Festival, Black Rock Press publication of broadsides with Meg and Bekah Sullivan, Metro Gallery Exhibit, Poetry and Jazz night to honor Langston Hughes at the Nevada Museum of Art along with Sapphire Jazz Ensemble Reno and Kashae Felix, Something Seen: Humanities Under the Stars with Shaun Griffin and Melanie Perish hosted by Tony Berendsen (and family) at the Northstar Cosmorarium, Celebrando La Ascendencia: Dia de Los Muertos, 40th Festival of the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering, Hosting The Art of Words at the Artist Co-Op of Reno, Poetry at the Backyard and Poetry at the Tahoe Wine Collective, Night at the Library with Huffaker Elementary, Poetry in the Parks at both Empire Mine and Tahoe City Gatekeeper’s Museum with the California Parks Foundation, Poetry in the Parks at Crissie Caughlin park in the Idlewild chain and Hunter Creek Wilderness through Nevada Humanities and Truckee Meadows Parks Foundation, Inaugural Dinner on the Bridge with the Sierra Arts Foundation, and many University Open Mics.

What are some common topics or subjects of your writing?

Light and dark and the gray areas in between, social commentary, social activism, good and evil, God, the night sky, mountains, doggies, birds, and chosen family.

What have been the best parts of being Poet Laureate?

The opportunities and the relationships. The growth in craft and the growth as a human being along the journey.

Because of the title, what doors were opened for you, or what things did you get involved in? What advice would you give the next Poet Laureate?

***Gestures broadly*** SEE ABOVE as well as The Tahoe Poetry Collective, UNR Brushfire Open Mic, Nevada Poetry Society, Sierra Arts Literary Community, Sierra Poetry Festival, Collective Breath Poetry Book Club, Monday Night Poetry, and True Colors Poetry, along with multiple appearances on KOLO ABC with Katie Roshetko.

Our community was featured on PBS Reno as a segment in their Arteffects series and was able to haul in back-to-back best open mic wins through the Reno News and Review Best of annual competition in 2024 and 2025. We’ve also happily been gifted the opportunity for the forthcoming anthology of poetry Is It Monday Yet? (2026, Moon Tide Press).

To any future Poet Laureate: give the role and the community everything you have to give. Pour it all out there. Leave everything on the table and keep helping to build longer tables so that more and more folks can have a seat. Read as much as you possibly can. Our community needs poetry now more than ever.

Have you been to a workshop that you found particularly interesting? What was the prompt?

Wild Western Wordsmiths with Reena Spansail and Griffin Peralta in collaboration with Nevada Humanities at The Holland Project. I also thoroughly enjoyed Michelle Myers on the subject of Art as Activism.

Thank Yous and Bouquets of Flowers

God, for giving me a love and a gift to help carry me home on those darkest nights. My Mom for carrying me into this world and supporting me when I couldn’t support myself. Mary, Holly and Dave of the Bruka Theatre. Jessey Richards and Riley Blossom. Dana and Michelle of Reno Arts News and the Creatives Talk Podcast. Tia Flores and Nohemy Velasco. Melody Jane Photo for doing headshots and being a multi-talented artist in her own right. Kathleen Kuo, George Lam, and Alyda Dickens, Priya Hutner and Katherine Hill, Shaun Griffin, Scott Green, Gailmarie Pahmeier, Karen Terrey, Lindsay Wilson, Max Stone, and Paige Clarno. Pax Robinson and Coley Whisman. Teresa Breeden, Susan Sarah Priest, Kathy Nelson, Melanie Perish, Courtney Clifton. and Joanne Mallari. Lafe Benson and Jon Frye. J Macon and Perry King. Krystal and Shelby. Eric Morago of Moon Tide Press. Alon, Matty D. and Kenny. Rachel and Alex. Scoot, Levi, Megan, Caleb, Sophia and Erin. Serena and Justin Abramson. Marleta and Erik Fong. Eric Brooks, Valerie Neish Moore, Jamie Lynn Woodham, Anna Freeman, and Spike McGuire. Brandon Leake and Derrick C Brown. Andrew Coffey. Camilla Downs. Stacey Spain and the breathtakingly beautiful people of Our Center.

Monday Night Poetry and True Colors Poetry Regulars (you know who you are). There are so many beautiful souls I get to co-create with. There are too many to list but I owe you each a hug. Special shout out to Jasmin, Colton, Local Legend Courtney Kelly, Nicole, Niki, Nikki, Harland, Timothy, Cloe, Ace, Mary, and Raymond for helping to keep me going when I was at my lowest points or just needing someone to talk with.

Everyone in my Sunday afternoon writing workshop. Thank you for welcoming and tolerating me.

My inspiring Las Vegas Poets: Ms AyeVee Ashley Vargas, Vogue Robinson, Heather Lang Cassera, Angela Brommel, Bruce Isaacson, Sin À Tes Souhaits, Bobbie Ann Howell, Elle Hope, Kreative Kenn, and Steven Dee Kish.

My Goddaughters: Isis, Schae, Cheyenne, Harleigh, and Ashlyn. Mama Jane.

Ean Darbo and Dave Alfred for putting up with the beginning years of my love for poetry and all of the years since.

Reno Arts and Culture Commission members Erica Hill, Megan Berner, Christian Davies, and Anza Jarschke, before they left.

My Spoken Views Collective OGs: Iain Watson, Griffin Peralta, Elisa Garcia, Shaughn Richardson, Steve Elegant, and Pan Pantoja. Thank you, Iain, for sharing the vision, blueprint, and heart of what this all can be on its best days. All of western Nevada owes you.

Church opportunities to share poetry: Rebecca Brown, Matthew McDowell, and Connie Friend.

Terrence Hammond from the Metro Gallery at City Hall for the City of Reno

To anyone who ever broke my heart or let me down, which added fuel to the fire.

And last, but certainly not least, my wife Amanda McHenry for holding it down when she has her own extremely busy schedule to deal with and making it to everything she possibly could in spite of high demands that she’s under. We always find time to sneak in paranormal thrillers, Bravo TV, Christmas movies, prayer time, and cuddles with Honey.

Jesse James Ziegler is Poet Laureate for the City of Reno (2024–2025). He is the vice president of Spoken Views Collective, the creative director for Monday Night Poetry, True Colors Poetry, and Collective Breath Poetry Book Club. He holds leadership positions within both the Sierra Arts Literary Community and the Nevada Poetry Society. He opened and hosted the world premieres of Brandon Leake’s original spoken word play Insomnia (Winner of America’s Got Talent, Season 15). His work has been published by Nevada Humanities, Moon Tide Press, The Bruka Theatre of the Sierra, The Mill Valley Literary Review, Strophes, KUNR and KWNK radio, PBS, Black Rock Press and Multnomah University Press.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

Being a third-year first-generation college student to immigrant parents, I take great pride in my Vietnamese heritage and background. Being once ashamed of my complexion and home-made packed school lunches, I now proudly share these things as a part of my identity. Throughout high school, I embraced my differences and learned to love every part of my Vietnamese self. With my acceptance into the University of Nevada, Las Vegas (UNLV), I especially relished the diversity of students and found myself among other like-minded individuals.

Growing up in a predominantly white K-12 school, I always felt like part of the “other”. I envied people’s shiny blonde hair and their American school lunches consisting of turkey sandwiches and yogurt. I remember shrinking in embarrassment when I opened my container to release the aromas of pungent spices and interesting-looking meats. I wolfed down my meals every time I was at home, but self-consciousness bubbled in my stomach, rendering me too full of insecurity to eat. Eventually, this fear dissipated, and I am ever so grateful for the privilege of having my mother make home-cooked, authentic Vietnamese dishes passed down from her ancestors in Hue.

Pho is one of the most iconic Vietnamese dishes. It is a savory broth soup served with rice noodles, thinly sliced meat, and a myriad of toppings such as cilantro, bean sprouts, lime, and green onions. It can be customized to be light or hearty, simple, or complex. This soup has always been deemed a Vietnamese comfort dish.

This semester, I am lucky to be an Events Intern at Nevada Humanities, in partnership with the Neon Pacific Initiative, a Mellon Foundation-funded initiative to expand the study of the race, place, and culture of Asian American and Pacific Islander communities in Las Vegas. I learned a lot about the humanities, which, to me, is the study, observance, and celebration of the cultural aspects that comprise our daily lives. In particular, I gravitated towards folklore and learning about the everyday application of the humanities, where I learned that there are both oral traditions (where the art involves spoken word) and material culture (traditional hand-crafted objects, including cultural foods). It was exciting to me that the little things we carry in our lives, such as the food we eat and the clothes we wear, can be studied and preserved as a part of our identity and heritage.

For my end-of-the-semester program, I am organizing a community event that highlights AAPI voices through the sharing of food, storytelling, and expression. Join us for Phoetry Night in the Beverly Rogers Literature and Law Building (RLL) Room 101 on the UNLV campus on Sunday, December 14, from 5:00 to 7:00 pm for a conversation between Vinh, the owner of the restaurant Pho Vegas, and Dr. Mark Padoongpatt of UNLV. Free pho samples are limited to the first 20 registrants, but feel free to Bring Your Own Pho to participate in the tasting notes! Afterwards, local AAPI writers Mei-Mei Mijares and Niko Mendoza will perform readings of their original poems, followed by a group writing workshop.

I am grateful for my experience at Nevada Humanities, and I truly learned a lot about the Asian American community. I hope my event will bring individuals together and leave them with both their hearts and stomachs content. I can’t wait to see you there!

Kathy Pham is a third-year sociology student at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, currently serving as an Events Intern for Nevada Humanities. Kathy enjoys working with nonprofit organizations to make an impact in her community and uplift marginalized voices. She is passionate about the AAPI community, women’s rights, education, and mental health. In her free time, she enjoys spending time with friends and family and trying new foods.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

This blog post is generously provided in kind by Jodi Jill. The Double Down blog is also supported by Nevada Humanities’ donors.

By Jodi Jill

Puzzles? When I think about puzzles it brings absolute joy. Whether sharing the different names of jigsaw puzzle pieces shapes with a classroom or discussing a crossword clue, it’s a passion that brings me happiness. And it all started with a dream of finding puzzle friends.

When I grew up, I didn’t live in a normal place as we lived in a storage unit for 11 years. It was the size of a garage and during this time, there was no school or outside world. We were locked up. While there was much sadness in this situation, I promised myself there had to be something better outside that door.

One thing that truly made my life happy was puzzles. Depending on the type, I could challenge myself without the scrutiny of others and learn at my pace. This idea is the foundation of my puzzle love and my desire to make Puzzle Day everything it has become.

It’s been over 30 years since I started Puzzle Day, but it seems like yesterday. It started with the idea of sharing puzzles with kids and hoping to find individuals who love puzzles as much as I do. With work, passion, and giving away a lot of puzzles it’s become a fun thing the world celebrates today. Fast forward to the upcoming Puzzle Day celebration and, just like last year, millions of people participate on January 29 playing a puzzle their own way.

What is even more amazing is that people kept telling me that one day wasn’t enough, so I created Puzzle Month, too. Spanning all of January, in 2026 there will once again be 31 days of fun and it’s the 20th anniversary. Both opportunities are for everyone. I just pinch myself thinking about all the puzzle fun that’s been had over the years!

Puzzles are more common in our world than you might think. With 1.2 billion dollars of new puzzles being sold every year, people love the challenges of the 900 types of puzzles available. And there are various levels of difficulty so everyone can join the fun. Shockingly, there has been a consumer shift, too. Over half of all new puzzles are sold in Puzzle Month. 

Where are the Puzzles?

There are so many puzzles in our lives. The kids are using puzzles to tickle their brains and seniors too. We conquer puzzles on job applications, find them on the back of grocer ads, and even see them on cereal boxes. Plus, we love playing jigsaw puzzles on the dining room table. Yes, puzzles are everywhere.

This Puzzle Day and, if you love puzzles as much as I do, Puzzle Month, I invite you to enjoy your favorite puzzle. Be it an Escape Room (some of the best are in Nevada), a new jigsaw, or a word teaser, take time to bring some puzzling fun to your lives. It’s good for the soul, helps sharpen the brain, and offers some well-deserved fun time! 

Happy Puzzle Day!

Get to know more about Jill’s work and learn how to get involved with Puzzle Day at the Humanities at Play online program on December 20, 2025.

Jodi Jill is the founder of Puzzle Day and Puzzle Month. Her life's work involves educating people around her joy of puzzles. She happily admits she knows way too many puzzle facts. She also enjoys her adopted fur monster, June Bug and is obsessed with monorails. As a former monorail driver, she loves to ride the Las Vegas monorail every chance she gets.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

Kyra Lalas is one of the winners of the 2025 Spark! Youth Poetry Competition at the Las Vegas Book Festival.

By Kyra Lalas

i hunt the demon that goes bump in the night
but first i ask if they’d like to take a bath
i take a sponge and scrub
at the filth, wet, and slop
until it comes off effortless and neat
i towel their spine and they brush their teeth
read them bedtime stories where they sleep

so they can know the comfort of safety
of warm sheets, laundry soap, and childish dreams

i hunt the werewolf who howls at the moon’s dimming light
but i ask if he’d like any dinner first
treat him to a good meal, fatten him up
with promises sweet savory and true

come high moon i card my fingers through his hair
tell him Let’s go play fetch and watch his eyes when he sees
the sky’s biggest bouncy ball for him to chew as he’d please

i hunt frankenstein’s monster who wakes with a lightning strike
but at least i call him by his name
take him to the parts of the world he was not born into
where you can be unapologetic and unashamed

i read him dictionaries and definitions
teach him synopses and synonyms
read him literature with unwritten meanings

if he was only the bits and pieces of parts stitched together
at least he could invent a whole with his own brains

i hunt dracula whose voice curdles blood in fright
but we talk for what feels like centuries
open bougie wine in his castle and laugh our sorrows down
in reds rich, pyrite, and bitter
i see bathrooms and bedrooms and banquet halls
paintings of man and woman ornate on every wall
never any mirrors
i only find him in the unused flash of his full-bodied laughter
i will send someone to clean all his windows
so he too can taste the light of gold, and learn the taste of silver

i hunt every monster who makes noise in the night
i come at every call, every slight, every sight
of beings with beady eyes and claws and fangs
but i will fill each of their stomachs
provide knowledge and comfort and company
it does not make you a monster
for not having a way to be saved

Kyra Lalas is a junior at the Coral Academy of Science Sandy Ridge campus in Las Vegas, Nevada. She has a dual passion for the arts and the sciences, and aspires to be a concert pianist and an engineer. When not writing poetry, Kyra can often be found practicing piano and trumpet, rehearsing a speech, cracking bad jokes, or simply relaxing with a cup of coffee.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

Sara Wang is one of the winners of the 2025 Spark! Youth Poetry Competition at the Las Vegas Book Festival.

By Sara Wang

When I was four, I fell. 
Not metaphorically. 
I tumbled, flailed my arms, and wailed 
As I came crashing down 
To my bedroom floor at 1am. 

My parents installed these springy steel structures 
The next day, inspired by both love and paranoia. 
They attached to both ends of my bedpost, 
Cradling to the sides of my bed like a comforting, 
but sterile, hug. 

That night, I crawled into my blankets. 
I hated the squeak of the metal against metal, 
But the sound felt like safety. 

Months went by. 
The marks on my door frame grew taller. 
Shoes were replaced.
My handwriting grew neater, 
And my stuffed animals began to collect dust. 

One day, walking into my room, 
They were gone. 
The crisp white wings that had extended 
Toward me every night. 
Were gone.

I ran up to my parents.
“You’re grown now! 
No more of these silly barricades.” 
It was strange 
How empty safety sounded. 

My bed felt smaller. 
The floor felt closer. 
The quiet felt louder. 

But I still slept in the middle, 
Half trusting the edge, 
And half missing the rails 
Habits are harder to outgrow than height. 

I found them again last week, deeply dug in the garage, 
The metal dulled, the hinges stiff. 
I realized, they were never meant to keep me from falling, 
Only to teach me that I could get back up. 

I used to think growing up meant not falling anymore. 
But maybe it means trusting the fall, 
And knowing there’s more to reach for 
Then there ever was to hold onto. 
Maybe it means leaning toward the edge 
Learning to love the space 
Beyond where the rails used to be.

Sara Wang is a freshman at Bishop Gorman High School in Las Vegas, Nevada. She loves writing and storytelling, and especially enjoys exploring themes related to the environment and identity. In her free time, she likes photography, playing guitar, and scrapbooking.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

By Bobbie Ann Howell

Growing up in Nevada, one of the coolest things was our celebration of Nevada Day. Out of school, often heading to a theme park in California filled with kids from Nevada, or heading out to Lake Mead or hiking the Valley of Fire and, of course, planning for the best places to secure a trick-or-treat haul. Nevada Day is special for many reasons, we are a state often only thought of by outsiders in terms of the images of Las Vegas, Reno, and Lake Tahoe. But those of us who call it home find a certain pride in calling ourselves Nevadans. We know Nevada was born in the midst of an epic national crisis, thus our motto, “Battle Born”.  I still love the fact that Nevada sent its constitution in the midst of the Civil War, to Washington, D.C. At the time it was the longest Morse code telegraph sent just in the nick of time to secure our electoral votes in the 1864 “election of a lifetime.” Nevada still impacts national events even in these modern times, still relevant in reminding each of us of our national duty on election day.

Nevada’s vast beauty and contrasting landscapes are amazing in a myriad of ways. Still a land of the unknown, discoveries can be made, places where ancient creatures once swam around what are now our highest peaks, receding waters carving signature contours across landscapes, rocks telling us stories of those who walked these meadows, valleys, and lived along its rivers in times past. We have the Bristlecone Pine, creosote, Joshua trees, and sagebrush that have been sentinels reminding us of the fragility of nature while bearing witness to change.  Deep artesian wells that have held life-sustaining water from our snowy ridges as the mighty Colorado passes beside us. Nevada keeps its waters in the Great Basin, holds its deep dark sky to show off the Milky Way.  It finds a place for thousands to visit together in the tourist-filled valley or leaving space to explore the quiet of the Ruby’s, hear the wind on the Black Rock Desert, or be amazed at the smallest of wildflowers within the desert crust.   

Nevada encompasses a vast area, yet we are still relatively small in population; even like all the Western states, we are growing. Many of our basin and mountain ranges are part of public lands, belonging not just to us but to the nation. The balance of the West is hard won, and keeping an eye on it is a task we must all embrace. We want to show this place to our future ancestors and know that love of place, of home, of what is needed to secure the blessings of Liberty is an ongoing responsibility.  

Home means Nevada if that is what you choose. It is something Nevada Humanities strives to share with everyone and each Nevada Day, we take joy in sending a Happy Nevada Day card across the state, hoping everyone will take a moment and reflect on the privilege it is to be here. The 2025 Nevada Day eCard was created from a sampling of the hundreds of people of Nevada who have taken a moment to join us in creating their own Nevada, P.S. I Love You Postcard, sharing a note about what they love about Nevada with someone they love or maybe even a Silver State stranger. Thank you. Keep up the good work. 

Bobbie Ann Howell grew up in beautiful Lee Canyon, Nevada, a mountain community northwest of the Las Vegas valley. Born in a state that has dramatic contrasts from the desert valleys to high mountain vistas, from crowed urban centers to the open windswept spaces that are a part of her life and in turn her art. Howell attended school in Indian Springs, NV, and graduated from Western High School in Las Vegas, NV. Her bachelor of fine arts is from Abilene Christian University in Abilene, Texas. She received her master of fine arts in sculpture and drawing from Southern Illinois University, Edwardsville, Ill. 

Her experience includes working in the arts and humanities in cultural centers, museums, as an educator, curator, and artist in residence. She is currently a program manager for Nevada Humanities. She works from her studio, B.E.S.T. Arts 4 U, in Las Vegas, Nevada. Her artworks are in public and private collections and exhibited in regional and national exhibitions, and through public art projects. Howell was part of the 2017 ArtPop Street Gallery where one of her artworks was displayed on a billboard along Interstate 15 in Las Vegas, NV, and in 2023 and 2018 she was awarded the Nevada Arts Council Visual Art Fellowship Award.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

By Jarret Keene

To live in Las Vegas is to dwell in contradiction. Our city is all about the control of water, with our Strip-centered techno-fountains and fake canals. Surrounded by an austere desert that sun-ravages everything manmade, Las Vegas blissfully transforms scarcity into a holy substance. While tourists play, residents remove the grass from their yards, replacing the green with beige rocks. Lake Mead, meanwhile, stands as a fading memory of better days, the “bathtub rings” growing deeper and more dire. Here, water is more than history; it’s a symbol of the burden future residents will bear for our indulgences.

Water defines survival, dictating what can be built and where life thrives. Water determines how long we will exist. For these reasons, writers living here feel that agony of existence whenever we venture from our neighborhoods and survey the valley: Bone-dry washes. Lavish golf courses spawned from hidden reservoirs. Lake Mead’s surface shrinking every year. Prosperity and fragility are the two-headed snake that we dare not pick up and examine too closely.

Conceptually, Las Vegas writers, I have noticed, address this tension for inspiration. This dynamic is explored in Monsoon Season, the sixteenth volume in the Las Vegas Writes series. The book gathers both established and emerging voices, from essays of loss by Marlene Roque and Scott Dickensheets to lyrical meditations on desert rainfall by Erika Dagri and John L. Smith. As a collective work, Monsoon Season affirms that Las Vegas’s literary scene is as vital and surprising as the storms that sweep across the valley.

In this book, and in our desert, water serves as a powerful symbol, a muse and a warning, proof that in the Mojave, life insists on flowing. Stories, like rivers and floods, carve their way through caliche, leaving behind channels that endure long after a downpour.

Jarret Keene is an assistant professor in the Department of English at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, where he teaches fiction writing and the graphic novel. He is the series editor for Las Vegas Writes—a program of Nevada Humanities and published by Huntington Press. He is the author of the dystopian adventure novel Hammer of the Dogs, published by the University of Nevada Press, and the Kid Crimson series of western novels—about the youngest, deadliest, and most handsome hired gun in Virginia City, Nevada—published in 2024 by Wolfpack. His latest book is the story collection Gateways to Annihilation, published by Dark Wolf. Keene has been featured in Writer’s Digest, Publisher’s Weekly, EcoTheo Review, Library Thing, Black Fox Literary Magazine, Tupelo Quarterly, and Coast to Coast AM. He was recently inducted into the Nevada Writer’s Hall of Fame by the University Libraries at the University of Nevada, Reno.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

By Safiyya Bintali

“Water.”

The third college essay prompt choice, consisting of just those five letters. Water. Even all these years later, I remember how it unbalanced the rest of the list, that single word precariously placed beneath the multi-question paragraphs that made up prompts one and two. That long-ago fall, thousands of others alongside me also looked at that word. And undoubtedly, not one of us came up with the same response. 

After all, physically, the form water takes changes depending on what it is contained in. It does the same for us—it is shaped by our experiences. For some of us, water is the wolf contained in growling rapids, leaping past rocks or the gentle ambient noise of waves lapping the shore, ceaselessly. For others, it is an attempt at the philosophical question of glasses being half full or empty, or a rallying cry for conservation.

Whatever the undergraduate admissions committee read that fall, it meant the same thing in the end. Water is life. Not only because of chemistry and biology, but because that is what it is defined by.

For those of us that live in the desert, the way it shows up in our lives is distinct from places that are nicknamed “10,000 Lakes” or see what feels like buckets of it coming down each week. This does not mean to say that we don’t have those “traditional” experiences with water; after all, Lake Mead’s in the news often enough, and we do have a monsoon season. But, these vast, natural quantities—these bodies of water—are not always the first thing that comes to mind. For me, I always think of the Pittman Wash after a rare bout of rain, which I illustrated for the cover of Monsoon Season: Las Vegas Writers on Water in the Desert—the 16th volume of Las Vegas Writes. 

While I have heard it roar when a storm passes through, the most water I have seen in the Wash are the dregs, once the air has dried up a bit and the ground has soaked in most of the moisture. The clouds are still packed tightly in the sky, but the sun pokes out, gold-white veins promising a brighter day. And there it is, stretching the length of the Wash’s bed, a ribbon of silver water. It’s like you took a hammer to the bed and shattered it, uncovering a plate of light beneath, unevenly shining through the rock and brush and weeds. Yet, this little stream—it’s always temporary. It comes back, but you never know quite when; so, when you see it, you break away from your path to follow it. Along the way, you discover tiny versions of the great monuments it mimics: a waterfall trickling over a pile of pebbles, a little pool that begins to attract wildlife. Perhaps it isn’t the majestic sea or a place to paddle, but it is a sparkling remnant after the rare storm, one that quenches the soul like it quenches the earth.

The desert—it is full of these little oases. 

As you venture through this volume of Las Vegas Writes, you will have the opportunity to see the many ways other locals live and share the experience of water. Through it, you will become that college essay prompt: across histories of the Valley and of its people, poems and reminiscences, letters and photos, water will be redefined, over and over.

Safiyya Bintali is a writer, artist, and eLearning professional. Her comics and short fiction have been featured in Las Vegas Writes, Pictura Journal, Devoid Magazine, and Bridge Eight Press, among others. Her illustrations are upcoming in multiple children's and YA projects, and she has most recently illustrated the story collection Fabulous Fables and Fairytales: with a Twist (Grosvenor House Publishing, 2022). Also an educator, Safiyya teaches, develops curriculum for literature courses, and often guest lectures on the topic of comics. Visit www.safiyyabintali.com to find more of her work.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

By Sydney Martinez

When’s the last time you were set up to truly discover without the distraction of civilization, a digital nuisance, or anybody else? Where you can let your eyes focus on something far away and for a long time, and hear nothing but your own internal monologue?

After many years traveling to Nevada’s deepest, darkest corners together—Jonny, our dog Elko, and I—we’ve been fortunate enough to live a lot of awe-filled moments of authentic surprise. Where you can wonder what’s off in the distance down enormous valleys and even longer mountain ranges, and then legally follow the road to figure out what’s at the other end, which has turned into an unending quest.

All of the American West is celebrated for its mystery, enormity and beauty—everywhere except Nevada—which most people know only for Las Vegas, and the place the U.S. government decided was so empty, lifeless, and desolate it was the perfect place to blow up. But it’s true—these absurd stigmas that Nevada is genuinely beat up with—they exist for partially good reasons: most of its most special places are difficult to access, usually moderately dangerous, and tough to sustain for long periods of time comfortably. It’s mysterious, and to us, the most misunderstood state in the West.

As we sat out there that night, watching the steam swirl above us and disappear into a gravel road of stars, we talked about what it is that keeps us coming back out to this ultra-rural terrain over and over again and in the many nights since. We realized a large part of it is the challenge of what’s required to actually experience the special places, as if we have to prepare to truly survive out there without reliance from other people. Yet, we also discovered that the quest is more about a particular feeling—one we yearn to keep accessing as many times as we can. The feeling of knowing there’s something out there you can’t see right away. Something that takes a sharper eye to actually see. A second, longer look.

And the result is this! A 320-page, full color book filled with hundreds of color photos that’s a culmination of decades spent exploring and documenting some of our favorite ways to experience Nevada. As we ourselves discovered we’re on an unending trip into the high desert looking for hot water, caves and petroglyphs, darkness and quietness, vast wilderness corridors that allow wildlife to exist in the truest senses, lumps of turquoise and black fire opal, hiking and fishing alpine environments most people don’t even believe to exist here, and far beyond—we’re excited about where we landed because it not only helps anyone curious to see what’s really out there by figuring out a place to start, but as a whole, helps its reader understand Nevada’s many vast Basque, Buckaroo, and Indigenous histories you can’t learn from behind a glass display case in a museum.

My publisher Schiffer and I were joined at the hip throughout this process to make sure the book is equally at home on your coffee table as it is inside your glovebox to use as you bump down Nevada’s gravel roads. But one of the things we’re most proud of is this: there are no directions or geocoordinates, nudging its reader to actually find their own piece of Nevada wild. While you’re out there looking for it, you may luck out and meet a new version of yourself along the way.

Sydney Martinez is currently on a book tour promoting her project Finding Nevada Wild, and she will appear at The Writer’s Block in Las Vegas on October 25, 2025 and at The Martin Hotel in Winnemucca on November 8, 2025. Please visit FindingNevadaWild.com for more information. Ride along on her Nevada rambles on Instagram at @sydneymmartinez.

Sydney Martinez wakes up with alkali in her blood, sagebrush in her hair, and Nevada on the brain. Devoting as much time as humanly possible to learning the deepest, darkest corners of Nevada’s ultra-rurals, the people who protect them, and the bridge between the two, Sydney has professionally written about and photographed Nevada for nearly 20 years. Her work as a rural Nevada locations expert led to consulting for many Nevada local, state and federal agencies, including Nevada BLM, the Nevada Film Office, Nevada State Parks, Nevada Bureau of Mines and Geology, Nevada Division of Outdoor Recreation, and PBS Reno. She now focuses on developing her own brand, Finding Nevada Wild, while pursuing turquoise silversmithing under Song Dog Silver. She’s spent more nights in the back of her pickup truck than at home, which is exactly where she wants to be, so long as she’s got her husband Jonathan, dog Elko, and a Nevada hot spring bubbling up somewhere close by.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

By Dakota DeFiore

In the early 2000s when I first trained in pedagogy, technology and education were just beginning to solidify their future-forward merger. Even at the time, I was told teaching completely without tech was too antiquated for the 21st-century learner. A professor of mine made an excellent point: “Why would we be irresponsible and ignore the emerging research?” And that stuck with me. 

Currently, I teach writing and literature at the College of Southern Nevada where I work hard at upholding a promise I made to myself all those years ago: Regardless of how I feel about the way education changes, if I want to successfully reach a student, if I want to truly prepare them for the world beyond my classroom, my course content must constantly adapt to include what’s relevant, too.

This means, in my classroom, I don’t have to give up everything that came before. My courses still set expectations for students to put in the research and writing hours, to circle up as a community and have the meaningful and messy conversations about what we’re reading. But we also get creative, and we use digital literacy skills to better understand the English classroom and its processes. In composition and literature, I model AI as a tool for learning as frequently as I can, and I will continue to do so to the maximum capacity line—the line guided by integrity. 

But I’ve hit a guilt wall lately, of sorts. Despite using technological tools to the creative extreme in these courses, and despite my service as the current chair of our department’s Educational Technology Committee, my creative writing approach stands in stark opposition. As an artist, I am extremely selective with my AI use; so far, I’ve only used it for things like synonyms, or to determine if I’ve situated a word correctly in context. 

And because I am constantly researching this topic, I also understand the tempting power of AI for students: in seconds, an entire creative text. I ask myself all the time: Where’s the benefit in that?

Would it benefit my upcoming Introduction to Creative Writing students if I chose to go old-school-paper-workshop with the course design? Or, are my efforts better spent training them? To wrestle with language against the chatbot. To understand editing and proofreading enough to prompt the chatbot to work for them. Can I find a way for them to actually come out on the other side with skills and sentences they feel they can own?

It's your job as an educator to model for your students. 

And so I will (perhaps a little begrudgingly), try my best to meld artistic and scholarly integrity for growth in the creative writing classroom. Though I’m not looking forward to growing pains, I’m excited to learn how to adapt craft and creative approaches into something consumable for the 21st-century student, the 21st-century writer, and even (we shall see how much) for the 21st-century creative.

Dakota DeFiore teaches writing and literature at the College of Southern Nevada. She serves as Education Technology Committee Chair for her department. She is also the Fiction Editor for Red Rock Review, CSN’s longstanding literary journal. A writer and mother of two, Dakota has called Las Vegas home since 2021. In her classroom, she explores the intersections of growth, storytelling, and community, always working to strengthen student confidence and foster better communication between worlds.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

read because 
by Jen Nails 

read because 
insurmountable doesn’t mean 
what you think it means 

because
the North Atlantic Ocean 
nearly swallowed two girls 
holding their overturned Lifeboat for 24 hours 

because 
after rape 
girls stand up and 
the Reckoning begins 

because 
each of the 
100 Spaghetti Strings 
is a childhood memory 
woven around your heart 

read because 
insurmountable doesn’t mean 
what you think it means 

read because 
your wild-hearted 
fierce 
unwavering 
love 
for all living creatures 
is put through the Wringer 
every day 

because 
Wolves Wander 
out of National Parks 

because 
you 
are the wounded 
the blind 
the unexpected visitor in 
The Horse 

read because 
books are post-its 
direct from authors:
“forgive yourself” 
“listen better” 
“insurmountable doesn’t mean 
what you think it means” 

read because 
you stand 
divided 
at Borders 
and wait 
and watch 
every day 

because 
the Red Bird Danced 
to honor 
missing and murdered indigenous women 

because 
rising over the din 
we hear Sharice’s Big Voice, 
shout that 
a Native Kid Becomes a Congresswoman 

read 
to meet 
who you could be 
who you’ll never be 
who you are 

read because 
This 4th-grader 
is alive and her friend is 
Not so she smeared 
a little of her friend’s blood on her shirt which the 
Drill did not mention 

because 
after 
the second casket 
is lowered 
Things in Nature Merely Grow 

because 
death’s 
cold kiss 
comes, so 
You Better Be Lightning 

read because 
disappear 
read because 
empathy 
read because 
everything you’re looking for 
on your phone 
you’ll find 
between the pages 

read because 
insurmountable doesn’t mean 
what you think it means

Check out Jen Nails’s reading list on the Las Vegas-Clark County Library District website that accompanies her blog post.

Jen Nails is a librarian with the Las Vegas-Clark County Library District and loves football, yoga, writing, and spending time with her friends and family. Her podcast Revisions: How Our Favorite Books Change Us features conversations about pivotal books that shape young readers into their grown-up selves. Jen is honored that her middle grade novel One Hundred Spaghetti Strings was chosen to represent Nevada at the 2025 National Book Festival in Washington D.C. @jennailsit19

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

Gabriel Urza: The Motel Life was the first book I read that portrayed the Reno I grew up in, that I knew. What drew you to write about the side of Nevada that often gets overlooked—the transient life, the life of a casino town? Were you anxious about getting it right?

Willy Vlautin: I think, more than anything, I thought I would end up living in a motel. As a kid I used to dream about them. I didn’t understand much, I didn’t have a lot of guts, but I knew if you had the money, all you had to do was give it to the person behind the counter at a motel, and you’d get an instant home. A home with a TV, heat, a bed, and a bathroom. As I grew older, that pull never left. The idea of a motel as escape, the romanticism of it, the disappearing of it, the safety of it. All those old motel signs seemed like heaven to me. And then, a guy I grew up with began living in them. He was a drug dealer/addict and it was before cellphones, so I had to drive around town looking at different motels for his truck if I wanted to see him. The novel, The Motel Life, came from all of that and the idea of being on the edge of giving up and trying. That’s something I’ve always struggled with. As far as getting it right, man, I never know if I get anything right. I just fall in love with an idea and try to write it the best I can.

I can’t begin to tell you how much I loved The Silver State. It’s a brilliant novel that sheds light on our justice system and how it deals with those on the bottom rung. It’s also a serious page-turner. I couldn’t put it down. You were a public defender in Reno, what made you want to write a novel about that experience rather than a memoir? 

Urza: First off, thanks for the read and for the kind words about The Silver State! To be honest, I never really considered writing a memoir about being a public defender. For one thing, there are issues of confidentiality that wouldn’t let me talk about a lot of the most important parts of the experience—the trial preparation, the conversations with clients and prosecutors and other attorneys. I wanted to capture lawyers as real, complex people who are trying their best but often failing—if I took these failings from real life, I’d worry that it would make the attorneys seem unethical rather than fallible. And Reno is too small of a town. The legal community, especially, is really small, and so I’d probably have a lot of lawyers and judges unhappy with me if I was writing nonfiction. 

The other thing, though, is that when I think about my time in that job, there wasn’t really a story there—it was so overwhelming, and lots of good anecdotes about crazy shit happening, but it didn’t feel like it built to an actual story arc. Ultimately, I just felt like I had a lot more creative space in a novel.

Vlautin: Did your perception of Reno change after your experience as a public defender? What about your belief in our justice system?

Urza: Oh yeah, for sure. I didn’t live a totally sheltered life growing up in Reno, but I also had no idea what life was like for a lot of people. Reno, especially in those days, was a really transient, casino town. We used to mess around in the casinos and bars quite a bit when I was in high school and college. But when I was a public defender, I found out how quickly things can go wrong in that world, and how lucky we’d been. I think a major part of being a public defender is that process of learning how vulnerable we are, how things can change in a second.  

The other thing that changed for me were the landmarks. Now, when I drive around town, I often pass places where something horrible happened—someone was murdered, someone was arrested, someone was robbed. There’s a weird new sense of history for me. 

I’d love to hear about how you answer this same question. I’m thinking of a lot of books, but especially in The Horse, where there are characters that seem to draw from your life—a songwriter from Nevada looking back on his early days in music. Do you ever think about writing straight memoir?

Vlautin: I remember I lived in an apartment off Wells Avenue, and I had read somewhere that it was good for a writer to keep a journal, so I tried. I started writing a bunch of personal stuff in a spiral notebook. At the time I was a forklift driver and I used to be on it loading trucks, worried all day that my place would get broken into and someone would read my journal. The whole thing made me queasy and nervous. The experiment lasted less than two weeks, and then I burned the notebook. So I guess I’m not cut out to be a memoirist. The funny thing is, though, when I finished The Horse, I gave a copy to a friend of mine who I’ve known for forty years and he said, “Goddamn man, you really wrote about yourself in this one.” The thing is, I didn’t think about that while I was writing. It never crossed my mind that I was so close to being Al. I just had blinders to it. But Jesus, was my pal right. The Horse is the closest thing I’ve had to a memoir. I’ve just had better luck with the bottle and with the bands I’ve been in.

Urza: We both live in Oregon now but still spend a good amount of time in Nevada—what are the places that draw you back to Nevada, that you make sure to visit?

Vlautin: I moved to Portland to get in a working band. But man, I struggled. It was so big and gloomy. That’s why the early Richmond Fontaine records and my first two novels are set mostly in Nevada. It was out of homesickness. The problem was I couldn’t move back because it would be admitting failure. And I just couldn’t admit failure. So for years I just gutted it out in Portland and would sneak back and spend time at the Gold Dust West when they had a motel, The Fitzgerald, and The Star Dust Lodge to get my Reno fix. I used to stay for weeks if I could afford it. I didn’t do much but play guitar and write stories, and walk around. I wouldn’t hang out with hardly anyone. I’d eat at the Halfway Club, day drink at the Elbow Room or Corrigan’s. When my mom found out I was coming home and not telling her, I started going to Winnemucca and Elko. I’d eat at the Martin or the Star and do the same things. Walk around and write stories. I love those places a ton. I’ve tried to move back to Reno a handful of times but my band is based out of Portland, my wife’s family is here, so I just come back when I can.

Your heritage is Basque, your first novel All That Followed, was set in the Spanish Basque country. Do you think you’ll ever write about the Basque Nevada experience?

Urza: I’d like to! I always imagined the narrator of The Silver State to be Basque, but it doesn’t really appear in the book. But I also really appreciate the larger history of the sheepherders fleeing the Basque Country and landing in the middle of the Great Basin. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about a story that focuses on several generations of Basques in Nevada.

Vlautin: I was hoping you’d say that. I can’t wait to read that one. 

Urza: Was it important for you to get out of Nevada in order to write about it?

Vlautin: No, the weird thing with me is I fell in love with a certain side of Reno—the beat-up side—when I was about twenty. I was living in my mom’s basement, and I was young and a bit broken, and I really felt like Fourth Street in my heart. I felt like the drifters you’d see walking around downtown. Back then, instead of going to college parties, I used to drink at all the down and out bars. There was sadness to them, a wildness that I liked. The casinos were just starting to fall apart but they were still there: Harold’s Club, and The Nevada Club, and The Fitzgerald. I was in love with it all. So I was always writing about Reno. I just dug it so much. And you have to remember the only writers I knew that wrote about Nevada were Robert Laxalt and Walter Van Tilburg Clark, and they didn’t really write about that side too much. So while I was walking around I’d be out of mind with how beautiful the whole city was, and it was like I was the only guy noticing it. Later on, when I grew up a bit, I began falling for Elko and Winnemucca, McDermitt, Gerlach, Tonopah. There has always been a romanticism about the towns and cities of Nevada that’s mixed with my own personal melancholy and self-destructiveness that has made sense to me. I mean, I ain’t the most sane.

I want to ask you the same question you asked me: was it important for you to get out of Nevada in order to write about it?

Urza: Definitely. I needed some space from the place and from my life there to have any sense of remove necessary to write about it. But also, once I got into a draft, I started feeling the need to get back to Nevada. I made trips back pretty regularly while I was writing The Silver State, and I was sure to visit the places that appear in the book, and to take notes about all those small things you forget about when you’re gone.

Vlautin: What do you miss most about Nevada?

Urza: Oh man, a lot. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never become really used to being out of the high desert, and winters in Oregon are depressing as hell. For about four months a year, I miss getting out into the hills on a cold, sunny winter day. And the fact that almost all of the state is public land is something I didn’t appreciate until I’d left. Just being able to pull the car off on the side of the road and wander out into the sagebrush is about the best thing I can think of. 

Vlautin: If there was only one place you could ever eat in Nevada, where would it be?

Urza: Great question. Reno’s got such a food scene these days, but I feel ethically and ethnically obliged to say Louis’ Basque Corner on Fourth Street in Reno—it’s family-style Basque-American food that comes with a bottle of cold red wine. But I also love La Famiglia, which my friend Sergio Gespari’s family started, or Liberty. 

Vlautin: What keeps drawing you to write about Nevada?

Urza: Would love to hear your answer here. Honestly, it just feels like the only place I know anything about. But it’s also such a unique place, with a long and complicated history. I’ve been thinking lately about why I write—and one of the reasons I’ve settled on is that it helps me understand what I actually think about something. An experience, a place. Nevada is ancient, but it’s always changing, and so I’m constantly trying to figure out what I think about it.

Vlautin: I guess I continue to think about Nevada because of that love I was talking about earlier. I’ve always written for myself, so I pick the places I love: Northern Nevada, Portland, Eastern Oregon. I write about those places because I miss them or am haunted by them or can’t shake something that has happened in one of those places. Sometimes I’ll have a character get lost just so he can end up in Eastern Oregon or the Blackrock Desert so I can be there in my mind. Other times I’ll have a character end up eating at a Basque place in Gardnerville just because I want to be at the JT. I’ll write a lot of pages just to get a character to a place I want to be. And as far as unfinished business in Nevada, I don’t think I have any, except I’d love to write a book set in Winnemucca. I dig that place and have almost moved there about twenty times.

Gabriel Urza is the author of the novels The Silver State (Algonquin, 2025) and All That Followed (Henry Holt & Co., 2015), as well as the novella The White Death: An Illusion (Novella, 2019). His nonfiction has appeared in The New York Times, The Guardian, Salon, Slate, Politico, and elsewhere. He is a professor and the director of the Creative Writing programs at Portland State University, and a licensed attorney.

Born and raised in Reno, Nevada, Willy Vlautin has published seven novels, The Motel Life (2007), Northline (2008), Lean On Pete (2010), The Free (2014), Don’t Skip Out On Me (2018), The Night Always Comes (2021), The Horse (2024). Vlautin received the prestigious Joyce Carol Oates literary prize earlier this year. The Motel Life and Lean On Pete have been turned into major motion pictures. The Night Always Comes recently completed filming in Portland, Oregon. He also founded the bands, Richmond Fontaine and the Delines.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

By Julian Kilker

Visitors often wonder if there’s real community beyond the commercial spectacle of the Las Vegas Strip. On the tenth anniversary of the Basin and Range National Monument’s designation, an exhibition shows that there is, and that it’s thriving in surprising ways. At the Heart of Nevada, comprising photography, video documentaries, and interactive installations, brings together a group of people united by their appreciation of the Monument. 

Located just a few hours north of Las Vegas, the Monument covers more than 700,000 acres (about 1,100 square miles) of rugged mountains and valleys in Lincoln and Nye counties. It’s not an easy place to reach: the rough roads, sandy washes, and little to no cell coverage make for challenging travel. Yet its beauty, history, and sense of vastness, and its resources continue to draw visitors.

The Monument itself was created through a remarkable collaboration of ranchers, scientists, conservationists, artists, volunteers, and government partners, all working together. Our goal was to protect the region while emphasizing different perspectives on its value: ecological, cultural, historic, and recreational.

At the Heart of Nevada reflects that same collaborative spirit. Curated by three longtime friends who originally met at University of Nevada, Las Vegas—Paula Jacoby-Garrett, Checko Salgado, and myself, who together comprise the nonprofit Friends of Basin and Range National Monument—the exhibition pulls together many voices and perspectives. The works on display explore geology and history, ranching and recreation, artistic interpretation, and the echoes of nearby atomic testing. These pieces don’t just capture the landscape—they also reflect the friendships, idea-sharing, and creative energy that have shaped our engagement with the Monument.

At its heart, the exhibition invites visitors to think about how communities form around shared places and ideas. Just as the Monument itself grew out of collective imagination and effort, the exhibition stands as a testament to what collaboration can create. By sharing stories of exploration, stewardship, and creativity, it shows how this remote region continues to spark connections—between people, between disciplines, and between past and present.

We hope this exhibition not only celebrates the Monument’s first decade but also inspires new collaborations for its future. And maybe it will encourage you and your own circles of friends to get out, explore, and help care for this extraordinary corner of Nevada.

Julian Kilker’s work focuses on the intersection of visual media, social issues and innovation, and teaches in the UNLV School of Journalism and Media Studies. His research has been published in academic journals, including Visual Communication Quarterly, the scholarly arts journal Leonardo, Social Identities, Convergence, IEEE journals, and The Public Historian, and he has exhibited solo photography exhibits in Switzerland, California, and Nevada with support by the Nevada Arts Council, the National Park Service, Swatch, and the National Endowment for the Humanities. His work has received awards from The Broadcast Education Association, Management Communication Quarterly, the Association for Educators in Journalism and Mass Communication, the Nevada Press Association, and KNPR’s Desert Companion.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

Chelsey Trybus is the first place winner of the 2024 Spark! Youth Poetry Competition at the Las Vegas Book Festival. Registration for the 2025 Spark! competition is open through Monday, October 13, 2025.

By Chelsey Trybus

She didn’t ask for help.
She didn’t even want help.

But the waves crashed.
The lightning struck.
The fires burned.
The sun shun the hottest ray,
And yet we chose to turn away.

She didn’t ask for fixing.

As she cried out hurricanes and floods,
Of course it wasn’t a cause of our ignorance.
As we cut down woods,
Of course it was necessary. 

She didn’t complain.

And yet we do
For a lack of resources
That she didn’t produce enough of
As we blindly over consumed
The givings she gave
In a hope to be saved
From us.

But she didn’t ask for pity.

The grass turned fake,
Not for her sake,
But for ours,
To provide the water
We choose to view as unlimited.

She never asked for help.

But those dying as a result 
Of our actions did.
And we hid 
Our acknowledgment 
Because if they see,
We won’t be free
To cut down that tree
We may need
For a home,
As we must populate
Our already populated country.

She needs our help.
We need our help.
Our children’s children’s children
Need our help.
Because if the grass isn’t green,
Where is the other side?

Chelsey Trybus is a senior at West Career and Technical Academy in Las Vegas, Nevada. Her heart is set on studying environmental science with the goal of promoting clean and sustainable utilities for our people and planet. She has a passion for reading, poetry, archery, crochet, and advocating for a greener future.

Chelsey Trybus is the first place winner of the 2024 Spark! Youth Poetry Competition at the Las Vegas Book Festival. Registration for the 2025 Spark! competition is open through Monday, October 13, 2025.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

By Quest Lakes

When I was a kid, my dad would say, “I’m temporarily financially embarrassed,” which was his inside joke referencing Steinbeck’s famous observation that “we didn't have any self-admitted proletarians. Everyone was a temporarily embarrassed capitalist.”

Steinbeck was one of my dad’s favorite authors. He had access to every book Steinbeck had written because our tiny farm town had a beautiful library, one of the 1,689 U.S. public libraries built with money donated by capitalist Andrew Carnegie between 1883 and 1929. 

Carnegie had a track record as a capitalist who accumulated wealth by forcing his employees to work 12-hour shifts for low wages. One of the results was the bloody Homestead Strike of 1892. Carnegie was the sort of man who Steinbeck was thinking of when he wrote that “the great owners, who must lose their land in an upheaval, the great owners with access to history, with eyes to read history and to know the great fact: when property accumulates in too few hands it is taken away. And that companion fact: when a majority of the people are hungry and cold they will take by force what they need. And the little screaming fact that sounds through all history: repression works only to strengthen and knit the repressed." 

Yet Carnegie did seem to understand the long lasting public good that free libraries could bring to Americans and wanted that impact to be part of his legacy. He also understood that for those libraries to thrive and last, local support would be crucial. That’s why when he funded library buildings, he included a requirement for local governments to develop book collections and give library access to everyone.

The Carnegie library in my hometown is still there, and it’s thriving. 

That library, and many others I used later as an adult, gave me access to a world rich with ideas and concepts I wouldn’t have encountered otherwise. Although my family was indeed “financially embarrassed” during my childhood, we didn’t think of ourselves as poor. This was partly because my dad always rhapsodized about our great fortune to live in a nation with so many public libraries, universities, and parks. 

My mom also loved public access to the humanities and education. She was a librarian who began college in her 30s, after her youngest child was in school. She shared her enthusiasm for universities and libraries, describing her college courses and professors, and buying discarded books for us at library book sales where the going price was 10 cents. 

My siblings and I went on to attend public universities through a combination of scholarships, financial aid and work study jobs. I never lost my gratitude for the opportunity. Even today, anytime I walk around a college campus, I feel awe. 

My parents said these public spaces belonged to everyone, and therefore, we were always rich.

After college, I moved from the Midwest to rural Silver City, Nevada, a historic Comstock community located a few miles from Virginia City. I was excited to find that public programming by organizations like Nevada Humanities was easy to arrange, even for a tiny town like Silver City, population 155. To name just a few examples, in 2006 Nevada Humanities funded University of Nevada, Las Vegas, professor Sue Fawn Chung’s well-attended lecture on the contributions of Chinese immigrants to the Comstock; in 2010 they sponsored a living history portrayal of Margaret Bourke-White (the famous WWII-era photographer who was married in Silver City in 1939) performed by Western Nevada College professor Doris Dwyer, and in 2024 they funded a breakfast and book talk at the Silver City Schoolhouse by award-winning Las Vegas author Kim Foster. These events were attended not only by Silver City folks, but also by people from nearby Virginia City, Dayton, Carson City, Reno, etc.

Then about ten years ago, my husband and I co-founded an artist-in-residence program, offering a house we own in Silver City, Nevada, to visiting writers, musicians and visual artists from around the world for up to three months in exchange for offering public readings, exhibitions, and concerts. 

Among dozens of artists-in-residence, we’ve had the thrill of hosting scholars like Pulitzer Prize-nominated poet and professor David Lee for multiple poetry readings, including readings from Mine Tailings — a book he dedicated “to the good people all of Silver City.” Manhattan-based playwright and opera librettist David Cote drafted his play “Saint Joe” during his residency in 2019. Writer Peter Krogh Anderson of Denmark gave an illustrated talk about his travels to places including Syria, Somalia, and Turkey, and he and his friend Christina Balsvardé shared traditional Danish foods such as pickled herring and homemade rye bread with locals. Multi-talented writer and visual artist Scott Macleod recently gave an illustrated talk on Serious Projects, his new catalog documenting his long career creating art in the U.S. and abroad. The catalog includes photos of some of his art projects with Silver Citians as well as many photos of his cultural exchange projects with folks in Czechia and beyond. Cultural researchers Sue Mark and Bruce Douglas of Oakland spent a summer talking with locals. The result was the development of a dozen postcards showing what the community holds dear, and the creation of a town podium made with local found objects such as sheets of metal from the 1800s.  

Last year, I read Looking Backward, a novel published in 1888 by one of Andrew Carnegie’s contemporaries, Edward Bellamy. It’s about an American who has a dream in which he time travels from 1887 to the year 2000 and observes a utopian society where everyone enjoys an extraordinary public life that focuses on “well-being and social harmony.” 

Bellamy’s book speaks to my own motivation for opening a visiting artist program. Explaining his culture’s easy access to books, public education, and the arts, one of the citizens of the year-2000 utopia explains that “no single thing is so important to every man as to have for neighbors intelligent, companionable persons. There is nothing, therefore, which the nation can do for him that will enhance so much his own happiness as to educate his neighbors.”

Indeed. Indeed. 

Quest Lakes moved to Nevada in 1989 and fell in love with the state and its fascinating history, landscape, wildlife, and culture. She and her husband Theo McCormick co-founded the Resident Artist Program in Silver City, which provides a way for visual artists, writers, and musicians from other parts of the U.S. and the world to engage with the town and the region through the arts. Visiting artists reside at a geodesic dome known as McCormick House in exchange for offering free public performances, exhibitions, workshops, etc.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

By Sheila Bock

On a shelf in my living room in Las Vegas, Nevada, there is a model of the train station in Skagen, Denmark. It was a gift given to me by my dad, Russ Bock, who built it as a memento, of sorts, of the time I spent studying abroad in Denmark when I was in college. The attention to detail in this model is impressive, but perhaps what makes it especially noteworthy is that it is made entirely out of toothpicks. 

Building things out of toothpicks is a hobby that captured my dad’s attention in 1967, when he was a college student trying to think of a special Christmas gift he could give to the young woman he met and befriended the previous summer — the woman who would eventually become his wife and my mom. He wanted to give her something unique, so as an engineering student on a budget, he decided to try putting his engineering skills to use to design and build a miniature rocking chair from toothpicks.

Enjoying both the challenge of the process and his satisfaction at the outcome, he moved on to different projects to see if he could do them, including a miniature bicycle, a wishing well, a stagecoach, and a baby grand piano (another gift for my mom, who is a talented pianist). Over time, his primary interest, at least in the domain of his toothpick creations, turned to buildings: buildings he visited (e.g, Mission Dolores in San Francisco, California; George Washington’s house, Mt. Vernon, in Virginia), buildings that were personally meaningful to him (e.g., the house he lives in, his church), buildings that he found architecturally impressive (e.g., Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello), and buildings that were connected to people he admired (e.g., his current project is Greenway, the home of the author Agatha Christie). As he approaches his seventy-eighth birthday this September, he has been consistently working on making something out of toothpicks for almost sixty years. To date, he has completed over thirty toothpick creations.

This is not a hobby that has required much financial investment, which is a big reason he has found it so enjoyable over the years. For each creation, he has needed a pencil and paper, a ruler, toothpicks, scissors, sandpaper, and paint. Sometimes the architectural details of the building require additional supplies, such as plastic straws to help create the shape of tiles on a rooftop or a wiffle ball to help create the shape of a dome.

He has also never been in a rush to finish a project. Dedicating no more than thirty minutes per day to the endeavor, a single project might take multiple years to complete.  While he is extremely proud of each creation once it is done, the pleasure for him comes as much from the process as the product.

Outside of the ones he has gifted to me and my sister, the majority of his creations are on display throughout my parents’ home, often sharing shelves with family photos. While the individual creations are impressive pieces of folk art in their own right, as a collection they serve as a material archive of the life of their creator: his character traits (e.g., patience, meticulous attention to detail, frugality, seeing value ins making time for pleasurable activities outside of work and family responsibilities), relationships that are important to him, authors he has loved (as reading is another activity he takes great pleasure in), and the places he has visited and enjoyed during his travels. This collection – featuring the transformation of unremarkable toothpicks into aesthetically impressive and personally meaningful pieces of art – also makes visible, in material form, a life well-lived.

Sheila Bock is a folklorist and professor in the Department of Interdisciplinary, Gender, and Ethnic Studies at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. After trying to make her own toothpick house when she was in elementary school, she found that she lacked the patience and meticulous attention to detail necessary for the craft.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

By Wendy Chen

Growing up in a bilingual Chinese American household, I was a translator long before I called myself one. Daily acts of translation shaped my understanding of language and transformed my approach toward my own writing. My most recent book, The Magpie at Night: The Complete Poems of Li Qingzhao (1084-1151) (FSG, 2025), is a culmination of my experience as a translator, writer, and teacher. 

The Song-dynasty woman writer Li Qingzhao is considered one of the greatest poets in Chinese history but is relatively unknown in America. When I first encountered Li Qingzhao’s poems, I could hardly believe they were written almost a thousand years ago. The images in her poems are fresh and exciting, and the depth of emotions greatly moving. She writes poignantly about heartbreak, desire, grief. For example, in one existing fragment, she writes: You burn my hand, / but your heart is cold. In another poem, she describes the speaker as “thinner than a yellow flower,” having withered away from longing. 

In her writing, Li Qingzhao also reflects upon her own legacy as a writer, and she certainly held an unusual position in society. She wrote and published during a time when women were discouraged from doing so, as sharing and exposing one’s words and inner thoughts was considered improper and unchaste. However, these social expectations were not able to restrict Li Qingzhao; by the time she was a teenager, she had already gained fame and respect for her writing. 

I began translating Li Qingzhao in college, trying my hand at one poem, then another. Each translation was a puzzle that could only be solved through language. On one side, there was the original Chinese text. A hazy web of connotations, emotional associations, sonic textures, literary references surrounded that text. On the other side, there was the blank page of the translation; in other words, possibility.  

The process of translation is defined through questions. For example, which threads might a translator draw on and pull over to the blank page? Should a translator focus on a literal translation or one that captures the effect of the original for a modern-day audience? Should a translator try their hand at a sonic translation, one that evokes the sounds of the original language? If there are multiple readings of the text, which one should the translator prioritize? These decisions were challenging to make but taught me so much about my own sensibilities as a writer and artist.  

Now, as a teacher in the Creative Writing Program at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, I guide my graduate students through their own translation projects. In classes, we consider what it might mean to translate a visual experience into a textual one, or how one could translate birdsong into human language. Every semester, I am delighted by the ways that my students question, challenge, and transform their understandings of what it means to be a translator. In doing so, my students bring these new understandings to writing and language and, ultimately, to the world around them.  

Wendy Chen is the author of the novel Their Divine Fires (Algonquin) and the poetry collection Unearthings (Tavern Books). Her poetry translations of Song-dynasty woman writer Li Qingzhao are published in The Magpie at Night from Farrar, Straus & Giroux. She is the editor of Witness, associate editor-in-chief of Tupelo Quarterly, and prose editor of Tupelo Press. She earned her MFA in poetry from Syracuse University and her PhD in English from the University of Denver. She is an assistant professor of creative writing at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. 

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.

By Ashley Payette

Due to climate change, high temperatures and wildfire smoke have increased in intensity across Nevada. Communities need to be informed of these events so they may take action to protect themselves. To learn how the risks of heat and wildfire smoke are communicated with the public, I talked with Kristin VanderMolen, assistant research professor with the Division of Atmospheric Sciences at the Desert Research Institute.

Ashley Payette: In your paper “Identifying risk information needs of rural communities impacted by wildfire smoke: A mental models approach,” you mention that broad-scale wildfire smoke risk communication doesn’t always effectively reach rural communities. Can you expand on how a lack of access to information may put communities at risk?

Dr. Kristin VanderMolen: I’ll answer this in part by way of example. With respect to wildfire smoke, if you look at the EPA (Environmental Protection Agency) fire and smoke map, or the PurpleAir sensor map, you’ll see that most of rural Nevada lacks air quality monitoring. If you’re in rural Nevada, you can open a weather app, and it might give you an air quality reading, but because there isn’t monitoring, you’re getting an estimate that is not directly informed by local data. When you lack [local] air quality data, you don’t have that information on which to base your risk communication.

It also matters what [information] you communicate to people and how. Even if you do have local data to inform your risk communication, there are also questions around content, language, and format. Are you providing content that will resonate with your audience? Is it available in multiple languages and formats so that it’s accessible to different groups? Does the messaging demonstrate awareness of barriers that people face in trying to mitigate their exposure? Throughout a lot of northern Nevada, people don’t have central air conditioning units, which is the primary tool for limiting exposure to both heat and wildfire smoke. If you have generalized messaging that is focused on how to use AC as effectively as possible, a lot of people aren’t going to be able to utilize that information, and it may even turn them away from that source.

Payette: In “Bridging Risk Communication and Health Literacy to Improve Health Outcomes Related to Heat,” you explain that risk communication and health literacy must not only work together, but also be personalized for their audience. How can we ensure that information remains accurate, accessible, and timely?

VanderMolen: One way is to diversify communication channels. If you have a central messaging agency, they can partner with local level entities to help get information out. It’s often the local level entities that know their audiences best; they already communicate with them, so they may be well-positioned to repackage general information that they receive into content that will resonate with their specific audiences.

Another way is to create opportunities for public education. These would be opportunities [for the public] to learn about the risks of exposure to heat and wildfire smoke, what groups are more at risk, what actions they can take to protect themselves, and how to access information sources that they may not be aware of. When that education is provided by trusted individuals or organizations, [the public is] more likely to recognize themselves as at risk, take the actions that were recommended to them, and seek out information from those sources that have been provided to them.

So, by diversifying communication channels, you can get information from central messaging agencies down to members of the public. By educating members of the public – using trusted members of the community to provide that education – you can also connect people to those central messaging agencies while ensuring they have the knowledge they need to interpret and make use of the information received.

Payette: A lot of the research that you’re doing focuses on how communities facing heat and wildfire smoke are more at risk for health issues. Can you expand on what these health risks are and how effective communication can help mitigate these health risks?

VanderMolen: With respect to heat, there are heat-related illnesses. These include things like heat cramps, heat exhaustion, and heat stroke. Heat is also the number one cause of weather-related mortality in the United States. With respect to wildfire smoke, there are the symptoms of exposure that I think, probably, a lot of us are familiar with: itchy eyes, runny nose, coughing. Exposure to wildfire smoke can also exacerbate cardiovascular, respiratory, and other chronic conditions.

When it comes to communicating effectively to mitigate those risks, there are two important considerations. One is ensuring that the messaging that goes out to people is tailored to them. This means making sure that the content will resonate with them, reflects their beliefs and values, and is provided in appropriate languages and formats to be accessible. The other is making sure that the public is informed or educated in ways that allow them to be able to interpret and make use of that messaging, if they choose.

There are a lot of assumptions commonly made in the practice of risk communication. There’s this idea that you can simply put out a message and people will take into consideration and heed its advice. But there are a lot of assumptions there: your message is reaching people; people will take the message seriously; people who are members of at-risk groups know that they’re at-risk; people will know what actions to take to protect themselves. Those assumptions perpetuate the notion that there is a one-to-one relationship where information that is received is information that will be utilized. But it’s really important to tailor risk communication, to make sure the public is informed, and to recognize that there are always barriers to what people can do to protect themselves from heat and wildfire smoke.

Kristin VanderMolen is an assistant research professor at the Desert Research Institute in Reno. She has a background in environmental anthropology and conducts stakeholder- and community-driven research on climate impacts and adaptation, primarily related to extreme heat and wildfire smoke as individual and compound events. This includes social science research on hazard risk communication, climate and health literacy, and business disruption, as well as interdisciplinary research on environmental monitoring and health impact assessment. Dr. VanderMolen’s work takes place in the western U.S.

Thank you for visiting Double Down, the Nevada Humanities blog. Any views or opinions represented in this blog are personal and belong solely to the blog author and do not represent those of Nevada Humanities, its staff, or any donor, partner, or affiliated organization, unless explicitly stated. All content provided on this blog is for informational purposes only. The owner of this blog makes no representations as to the accuracy or completeness of any information on this site or found by following any link on this site. Omissions, errors, or mistakes are entirely unintentional. Nevada Humanities reserves the right to alter, update, or remove content on this blog at any time.