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heyyyharry · 4 years

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Chapter 10: Truth or Truth

(from the My Girl Trilogy: Stay Mine)

…in which the truth comes out.

Word count: 6.6k

AU: actor!Harry, older!Harry, younger!Y/N, (4-year age gap).

Wattpad link (Thea as Y/N)

Well, this is one crazy chapter 👀 Let me know what you think because I’m thirsty for feedback. But also don’t be to harsh on me I’m fragile.

The last Sunday of the month. Laura Hilfgard’s flat. Y/N’s book was almost finished and ready for submission, and she was at the top of her game. She’d been putting off everything else to write, and for the first time in her life, everything was happening according to plan. Last year’s Y/N would’ve spent every passing moment waiting for something to go wrong. The writer-to-be Y/N, however, was living her best life.

“Are you sure you want to omit the confrontation scene in chapter ten?” Laura asked once they’d stopped for a tea break.

Y/N stirred her tea slowly, still contemplating her handwritten notes. “You don’t need drama in every chapter. It’s not realistic.”

“It’s fiction,” said Laura. Y/N glanced up with an eyebrow lifted, and the agent exhaled as she raised her hands, palms out. “Sorry, ma’am. Your book.”

Blowing into her tea, Y/N closed her pink notebook and took a sip. “Sorry, it’s just the story is based on what happened to me.”

“Oh?” Laura blinked, sounding both surprised and intrigued.

“I changed a few things,” Y/N said. “But yeah, my boyfriend used to be my neighbour. We met in his treehouse twelve years ago.”

“Your boyfriend is Harry Styles, right?”

“You know him?”

“Everyone does.” Laura stopped stirring her tea to add more sugar with the same spoon. She’d been stirring and adding sugar for the last five minutes, which made Y/N wonder if she was going to drink at all. “I’ve heard so many stories about you two. You make a fine couple.”

“You’ve heard stories about us?” Y/N carefully set down her cup and smiled questioningly at the woman. “From whom?”

“Everyone,” Laura said and finally brought the cup to her red lips. Y/N watched Laura take the first sip of her overly sweet tea, and the only thing that came to Y/N’s mind was the likelihood of a connection between Laura and Harry.

Impossible. Harry would never have interfered. Not after their fight about John Conall. Besides, Blake had been the one who’d suggested her to Laura, not Harry. So how could Harry have possibly done anything?

Or could he?

What if he’d contacted Laura right after Blake had given the manuscript to her? No, Harry would never lie to Y/N. Harry, of all people, would understand how much this meant to her, that she’d accomplished everything on her own without his help. Harry, of all people, would believe in her.

Once she got back to her flat, she found herself pacing back and forth in her living room, clutching her phone to her chest as she tried to decide if she should just call and ask him. Him saying he had no connection to her literary agent would put Y/N out of her misery. But that would prove that she didn’t trust him, and he’d be so angry, and they would fight again. Things had been going so well recently she didn’t want to mess it up. Although there was a tiny part of her doubting everything, mostly herself…

Her phone rang, and she jumped. It was Harry. Biting her nail, she slid her thumb across the screen to answer and tried her best not to sound like she’d been overthinking. “Hey, baby.”

“Hey, are you working?”

“I just got back from Laura’s.”

“Is the book done?”

“Yup. We’ve submitted it to some publishers, and all we have to do now is wait.”

“That’s my girl.”

The question about Laura was on the tip of her tongue. She bit her nail instead and took a seat on the couch as he went on, “Don’t hate me for what I’m about to say, okay?”

“Okay.” She kept her tone light and neutral while unconsciously picking at a thread on her skirt.

“I forgot that I’d have dinner with my dad. I know I said I’d take you out tonight–”

“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” she said quickly and sat on her hand to stop her fidgeting. “You’ve been spending quite a lot of time with your dad.”

“Yeah,” he sighed contentedly. “Now that I don’t have to hide it from my mum or Gemma anymore, I can support Dad and Emi without feeling bad about it.”

“Support? As in...financially?” She hoped she didn’t sound too judgy.

He was quiet for a full second. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Harry…”

“No, hear me out. They owed the bank a lot of money because of the accident. I only helped them pay their debt. It’s not like I’m buying them a car or a house.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled. “You’ve been giving them so many expensive things, and Isaac told me you’ve also been helping Emi get back to acting.”

“ ‘Help’ as in I got her to castings. She still needs to audition like everyone else. I don’t ask directors to give her roles that she’s incompetent at, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I’m not implying anything.” Maybe she was. “It’s just...you can’t live their lives for them, Harry.”

“I don’t. I’m only trying to help.”

“You can help, and you should. Just don’t overspend on them.”

“They’re family.”

She almost told him ‘not really’ and ‘I still don’t trust them’, but then let it go once he fell silent. “That wasn’t a fight, was it?” she asked.

“Of course not, kid.” His low laugh brought her a sense of relief. She straightened before leaning into the couch, staring at one of the cracks on her ceiling.

“I gotta go now. Talk to you later?” he said cautiously.

So she kept her tone light. “Sure. Have fun acting.”

“Have fun writing. Love you.”

She giggled as he kissed the phone.

“I love you, too.”

Since Gemma ran an online business and therefore wasn’t tied to a desk and a chair, she had decided to stay in London for a couple of days. Those couple of days had turned into two weeks and felt like two freaking months. Time slowed down when she was with Isaac; not that she complained.

She’d been with him constantly since they’d left Holmes Chapel. She wasn’t sure what they were. Friends? Way past that. Lovers? Not quite there. Friends who kissed? Well, sure, that might be a suitable label for their ‘relationship’. Gemma hated labels anyway, so it didn’t matter.

“Have you spoken to him?” Isaac asked, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. They were at his house, curled up in his bed, watching Netflix. Almost like a happy couple.

“Harry?” Her eyebrows furrowed as one of the characters was being brutally murdered on the screen. Isaac leaned forward and pressed pause right before the dead body collapsed.

Gemma gasped, “Hey!”

“You’ve already watched this,” he chuckled and removed the laptop from her lap before she could resume the movie.

“Still, that’s the best scene!”

He shook his head, placed the laptop on the other side of him and turned around, facing her. “Have you spoken to Asher?”

“No. He’s probably forgotten about me.”

“Gem…”

“Can we not mention my ex at this moment?”

“He’s not your ex yet, and you don’t want to mention him at any moment.” Isaac took her hand and brought it to his lap. “You need to break up with him.”

“He already broke up with me.”

“He said it was a break.”

She groaned and hugged a pillow to her chest. “He said it so he could hook up with whoever he wanted. He’s done this before, disappeared for a week or two. I was pretty sure he was hooking up with his secretary at the time, then he came back and acted like nothing was wrong. I just...I was stupid and I was in love with him. But not anymore. I’ve had enough.”

“So you’re just gonna wait until he reaches out to you, and then break up with him?”

“Yes. I want it to hurt.”

Isaac screwed up his face. “Why?”

“What do you mean why? After all that he’s done to me?”

“Do you still have feelings for him?” He tried to sound unbothered but she could see right through him. “Is that the reason why you’re so determined to make him feel equally bad?”

“No!” She shook her head, squeezing his hand. “I just don’t want him to think he’s so important. I’m not gonna reach out first. Now can we please get back to the movie?”

“Fine,” he huffed and brought the laptop back to his lap.

As she snuggled up to him and he draped his arm around her shoulders again, the buzzing of his phone on the nightstand interrupted them. She groaned when he withdrew himself from her.

“It could be Lee,” he said. Lee was his manager.

But it wasn’t Lee. She could see it on his face as he put down his phone as soon as he’d read the messages.

“Who’s that?”

“Your half-sister,” he said, drawing her back into his arms.

She lay her head on his chest, her eyebrows pulled together. “She’s still your model?”

“We had our last shoot yesterday. If you’d come, you could have met her.”

“It’s so weird that I haven’t.” She tilted her head up to look at his face. “Do you think she’s scared of me? Because I’m not as easy-going as Harry.”

“Probably.” A grin stretched his pink lips as she weakly hit his chest.

“Did you ever fancy her?” She arched an eyebrow so he mimicked her expression.

“Are you jealous of your own sister?”

“Half-sister.”

Her irritated tone got him laughing. “I mean, she is pretty.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, gazing at the ceiling. “Maybe a little.”

Gemma poked his side and he jerked away, doubling over and protecting his sensitive spots from her tickling. They nearly fell off the bed from laughing too hard. Somehow he ended up on his stomach and she on his back, their cheeks together.

He whispered, “Do you think Harry would like the idea of us?”

“Should we call and ask him?”

“Gemma.”

She giggled as his face turned serious. “Of course. You’re his best friend, right?”

“I don’t know about that. He didn’t talk to me until Y/N and I broke up.”

“That’s because she’s Y/N. He didn’t let me come to the treehouse because it was ‘their place’.” She rolled her eyes. “But it was mine first. Dad built it for me.” When she caught him gazing at her, she returned a look just as bemused. “What?”

“You said ‘Dad’. Not Winton.”

“Oh.” She rolled onto her back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Isaac flipped over to lie on his side, his head propped up on his hand. She waited for another question, but he didn’t ask, so she went on, “I still won’t visit him or even talk to him. But I guess there was a time when he was good, and I should give the old him some credits. It’s easier to do that, now that I no longer have to deal with the consequences of him leaving.” She turned to smile at him. “Now that I’ve found someone who really cares about me.”

“Who’s that? Is it me?” He acted shocked and she shoved him away, cackling.

“Come on.” She sat up, grabbed the laptop and beckoned him over. “We still have to finish this terrible movie.”

A week later, Y/N came to Laura’s office after she’d finished two classes in the morning. Laura’s assistant told her Laura had taken a day off because she was sick. “She’s rescheduled the meeting with the publisher this afternoon,” said the assistant. “I was gonna call you but Ms Hilfgard said she’d tell you herself. She’s probably forgotten.”

Weird. Laura never forgot. She was like a machine when it came to business stuff, and Y/N had always wondered where that woman got all that energy. Laura must be very sick. Y/N normally would stay away from other people’s business, but she’d been inseparable from Laura recently, which gave her a sense of responsibility for her agent. She should probably check in on Laura.

“Is she at her flat today?” she asked the assistant, who seemed unsure.

“I think so. Would you like me to call her for you?”

“No, thank you. I’ll do it myself.”

Y/N adjusted her bag on her shoulder, wished the woman a good day and ambled out of the room. She tried calling Laura when she got into the lift, but Laura didn’t answer the phone. A throb in her stomach led her to believe something was wrong.

Everyone got sick once in a while so Laura couldn’t be an exception; she was human after all. But Y/N’s gut feelings were always correct. And if she chose to ignore them, it’d be her fault when something actually happened to Laura, who lived all by herself and had no close friend or family, none that Y/N knew of.

“Laura! It’s me, Y/N!” Y/N banged on the door after she’d rung the doorbell many times and there was no answer. “Laura! Your assistant told me you were sick. I came to check on you.”

Just as she imagined herself kicking down the door like those badass heroines in movies, she heard the sound of it being unlocked, the handle turned, and the door was opened. Her chest caved when Laura appeared, holding the door just wide enough to reveal half of her face. She was in her bathrobe without any makeup on, her skin marked with freckles, her lips dry, her eyes dark and weary, and her hair wasn’t pulled up into a neat bun like it always was. She looked like she’d gone through hell and back.

“Are you all right?” Y/N asked and immediately realised how stupid she’d sounded; of course, Laura wasn’t all right. Look at her.

“I’m very sorry, Y/N. You shouldn’t have come here.” Laura sounded spacey. The smell of alcohol on her breath was too strong. She held Y/N’s gaze, expecting Y/N to leave, but once she was sure Y/N wasn’t going anywhere, Laura stepped aside and opened the door a bit wider, just enough for Y/N to slip in.

The door was closed. They were standing in the semidarkness; there was still a bit of light coming through the dark blue curtain of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The evident of Laura’s despair was lying on the white carpet in the middle of the room – empty bottles after a wild alcohol-binge. She wasn’t sick. She was drunk.

Laura brushed past a bewildered Y/N and careened toward the sofa. The sofa legs creaked ominously under her weight.

“As you can see, I’m pretty much alive,” she said to the ceiling, an arm placed over her eyes. “You may leave now.”

Y/N wanted to leave. Whatever Laura was dealing with had nothing to do with her. She’d only come to make sure her agent was still alive, and Laura was just drunk for some unknown reason, but that was all Y/N should know. She should leave. Her brain told her to leave, but her guts told her Laura needed help.

She huffed and came to stand at one end of the sofa. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“It has nothing to do with you, Y/N.”

“You rescheduled a meeting with the publisher without asking me – your author, and then lied about being sick when you’ve been drinking your arse off. So yeah, it has a lot to do with me.”

As Laura didn’t answer, Y/N picked up the woman’s arm and tried to haul her out of the sofa. She resisted the effort, weakly pushing Y/N away.

“Fine. I’m leaving.” Y/N folded her arms over her chest. “Call me when you’ve sobered up.”

“I now see why he’s crazy about you.”

The words froze Y/N to the spot. She slowly turned around and backed away from the front door to return to her previous spot beside Laura. He? Who was he?

Laura’s eyelids fluttered like she was going to fall asleep, but then she continued, “He chose you over me because you’re young and beautiful and ambitious and kind…He chose you over me because...I’m the opposite…”

Y/N’s heart, head, and stomach pulsated at once. “Who...who are you talking about?”

“Blake.”

The name left her in shock. She blinked at Laura, feeling disoriented for a second. She hoped Laura was only messing with her. Laura and Blake? No fucking way.

“He ended it because of you,” Laura went on despite Y/N’s startlement. “We weren’t really together, but he made it clear that we’d never be anything.” She laughed loudly and mirthlessly, her thick dark hair bouncing on her slim shoulders. “You have a boyfriend, and he still chose you over me. I would call him stupid but what would it make me?” Then she glanced up, her glossy eyes filled with wondering and desperation.

Meanwhile, Y/N was stuck in rearranging her thoughts. Everything made sense – Blake had been their connection since the beginning, and Laura had heard so much about Y/N and Harry – but Y/N couldn’t bring herself to believe any of it. She clutched the strap of her handbag and took in the sight of Laura, trying to look for the badass woman hiding underneath.

“I think you should go,” Laura said to her feet and gestured toward the door. “I’ll call you once I’ve sobered up.”

“Do you have anyone else I can call–”

“I don’t need anyone, Y/N. Leave!”

“Okay,” Y/N murmured as she squared her shoulders, gripped the strap of her bag, and marched to the front door.

Thud Thud Thud

“Blake! We need to talk, Blake!”

Blake opened the door and sprang back before Y/N accidentally hit his face with her fist. “Did you sleep with Laura?” she bellowed before he could question, and he blinked as if she was speaking alien language.

“Laura Hilfgard,” her voice dropped, “My fucking agent. For fuck’s sake! Did you sleep with her?”

He still didn’t answer but the look on his face said it all. He couldn’t admit something so horrible.

“Goddamn it, Blake! Fuck!” she roared into her hands, her chest growing hot. When he tried to touch her, she pushed him away and stabbed a finger at his face. “You lied to me!”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry–”

She held up a hand to stop him. “Oh, don’t fucking apologise to me. I’m not gonna accept it. Apologise to Laura.”

“We’re over.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter, Blake! It’s fucking sick that you slept with her so she would sign me! Fuck you!”

“Y/N!” He caught her wrist and she whipped around to fight him, but his fingers were quick to clasp her other wrist.

“Let me go!”

“Listen to me!” He shook her to get her to stop, and she did, panting and glowering at him. “I didn’t sleep with her so she’d sign you. Yes, I’d...I'd been sleeping with her before. That was how I knew her. I asked her to read your book and she loved it.”

“She only ‘loved’ it because she loved you, Blake!” Y/N yanked her hands back, tears welling up in her eyes. “You broke her and she cancelled the meeting with the publisher. She’s gonna drop me!”

“She won’t. I’ll talk to her–”

“I don’t fucking need your help, Blake. Just…” Y/N stepped back, holding up her hand to stop him from getting any closer. “Just don’t fucking talk to me again.”

“Y/N, please, hey.” He strode forward and got between her and her door, his desperate grey eyes begging her to hear him out. “I swear to you I didn’t do this on purpose. I just wanted to help. You were so desperate and I wanted you to be happy.”

“I was desperate but I wasn’t miserable,” she said through her gritted teeth. “You want me to be happy but what you did was awful, Blake. You made me feel like a talentless piece of shit, that if my boyfriend doesn’t get me a job, then my ex-boyfriend has to sleep with someone for it. God, what is wrong with you?”

“At least I gave your story to Laura and made her read it. Your boyfriend just fucking told John Conall to sign you. He doesn’t even care.”

“Don’t talk about Harry that way. He’s a thousand times better than you.” Then she froze. “How do you even know about Conall?”

“Laura knows him,” Blake said to his feet. “They talked.”

“Fuck this.”

She pulled out her keys and gestured him to get out of the way, but he refused to comply, shaking his head. She had never seen Blake Roman so despondent, and she didn’t like this side of him at all.

“I still love you, Y/N,” he said despite the fact that those were the last words she wanted to hear right now. “I’m sorry I left, but in the last three years, I couldn’t stop thinking about us, and how we could’ve figured out a way to be together instead of giving up. Then I met you here, and...and I–Listen, I’ve been trying to make it up to you–”

“Blake, please…” she breathed, her eyes tight.

“I know you still have feelings for me, Y/N. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have spent so much time with me. You rarely mentioned him when we were together. We have so much in common and we fit.”

“You’re wrong.” She stared dagger at him and unclenched her fists, taking a deep breath. “I rarely mentioned him because I didn’t want to hurt you. I knew you still had feelings for me. I guess I was wrong to want to keep you in my life as a friend when you don’t belong there anymore.”

“I do, Y/N. I do,” he fretted while she kept shaking her head.

“You don’t. You just...you just felt like childhood, which I can’t keep dwelling on anymore. Both of us need to grow up.” She inclined her head, arms wrapped around herself. “I’m sorry, Blake. I don’t think we can be friends anymore. Not after this.”

“Y/N.”

She didn’t look at him and rushed down the stairs, hoping he wouldn’t go after her. And he didn’t. She came dashing out of the building, her eyes prickling with tears. She couldn’t believe she’d doubted Harry and trusted Blake. She felt like such a fool. She hated herself.

Stopping on the side of the road, she fished her phone out of her handbag to call Harry. But then her screen flashed on with the notification of ‘11 missed calls from Laura H’. Her chest throbbed. She called Laura back.

Laura didn’t answer.

When Gemma stepped out of the lift, fumbling around in her bag for her room key, she almost didn’t notice the man waiting for her in the hallway.

“Gem.”

His voice froze her to the spot. She shot her head up, her heart rate increasing as Asher walked up to her holding a rose bouquet. He was dressed in a fine ocean-blue suit, his dark hair pushed back, the strong scent of his cologne so unbearable. He looked like he was here for a photoshoot or a red carpet event. When he cracked a smile, she responded with a grimace.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, unable to take her eyes off the flowers. The last time he’d got her flowers had been their first Valentine’s Day together; things had gone downhill after that.

“I came to see you,” he said. “To apologise.”

He held the flowers toward her with both hands, and she pushed them right back to him, shaking her head.

“I don’t need your apology,” she said. “You made it clear that day on the phone that this was over and I’m thankful for it.”

“I said ‘a break’.”

“You don’t get to call a break and come back whenever you feel like it,” Gemma said in annoyance. “That’s not how a relationship works.”

She gently pushed right past him to unlock the door. Right as she opened it, he slipped straight into her room. She stared at him, speechless. “Asher, leave.”

“I want to talk, please.”

Frustrated and annoyed, she slammed the door behind her, stormed toward the bed and flung her bag on it. He stood by the door with that stupid bouquet, waiting for his chance to speak.

“I can offer you a deal,” he blurted as she turned around. “You don’t have to get back with me. We can go separate ways after this.”

“Or we can go separate ways now.” She gestured to the door.

He pretended like he hadn’t heard that. “My father really likes you,” he said. “He thinks you keep me grounded. So I think...if you ask him for the investment, he’ll most likely say yes. I'll pay you. Please help me, Gem.”

“No!” Gemma put her hands on her hips, her mouth quirked in annoyance. “You’ve got some nerves to ask me that. We are not getting back together. Go find someone else dumb enough to help you.”

Asher’s mouth fell open. He must have come here thinking she would burst into tears and run into his arms the moment she saw him and forgive him like she always had. If so, he was destined for disappointment.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “Why are you like this all of a sudden?”

“Why do I have common sense all of a sudden?” She cocked her head. “Maybe I��ve finally found someone who appreciates me, and is not only with me because he can use me for his own benefit.”

Asher was shallow but he wasn’t stupid. Realization soon dawned on his face. “Have you been cheating on me?”

Before he’d come here, she’d imagined this moment to be extremely awkward, but now she was full of rage. “You and I are not together anymore, Asher,” she snapped. “But well, I did kiss him once when we were ‘together’.”

“You fucking bitch,” Asher bellowed as he threw himself at her. Everything happened so quickly her brain failed to catch on. The next thing she knew, she was on the floor, gripping the edge of the table, her head in pain. She spotted the horror on her ex’s face before he broke into a run out of the room, so she reached for her head and looked at her own fingers.

Blood.

He’d pushed her.

Shocked and dizzy, she held the table for support to stand up and hobbled into the bathroom where she grabbed a hand towel, wetted it and tried to clean the wound on her forehead. That was when she heard the door open and close. She spun around, horrified. It was just Isaac.

“What happened?!” He rushed toward her, held her face between his cold palms.

“Asher came here…” was all she could say while shaking her head, feeling herself going unsteady.

“Did he fucking hit you?” Isaac ground his jaw, his eyes turning dark.

She shuddered at the thought and felt hot tears in the wells of her eyes. “I think he pushed me,” she mumbled.

“Fuck!”

She fisted his shirt, afraid that he might run after Asher, who must have been long gone by now. But Isaac didn’t bother to ask about the arsehole. He inspected the wound on her forehead and encircled his arms around her. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you to the hospital.”

“Can I see her?” Y/N asked.

“Not yet,” the nurse answered.

“Is she okay?”

“She will be,” the nurse told Y/N while scribbling something on the clipboard. She’d asked Y/N a bunch of questions about Laura, most of which Y/N had answered with “I don’t know”. She didn’t know if Laura was a regular drinker or if she often drank to drunkenness. Y/N only knew what she’d witnessed – Laura blacked out on her bedroom floor with empty bottles scattering all around.

Laura had been taken to the emergency room where they gave her fluids. The doctor had briefed Y/N, saying Laura had got alcohol poisoning from her alcohol binge, and if Y/N hadn’t found her – if she’d locked the door after Y/N had left – then something terrible could have happened tonight. Y/N wasn’t sure if Laura would be okay, but things could have gone worse and she was grateful it hadn’t.

“Is there any family member that we could call?” asked the nurse, who was finally making eye contact with Y/N.

“I-I don’t know. I’m just her client,” Y/N said, rubbing her palms together nervously. “Maybe uhm...maybe I can call her assistant.”

“It’s fine. She’s in a better condition now. We’ll just get information from her when she wakes up.”

Y/N thanked the nurse and sat in one of the chairs in the hallway. She thought of calling Harry but didn’t have any motivation to do it, so she sat with her head against the wall, watching the nurses’ station while she waited for better news.

She didn’t know what time it was. She was already fatigued. She felt herself drifting away when a voice pulled her right back.

“Y/N?”

She looked up. Isaac and Gemma were just as shocked to see her. Gemma didn’t look like herself; she was wearing an oversized black hoodie with the hood on, covering her forehead. Y/N didn’t want to assume the hoodie was Isaac’s, but something told her it wasn’t Gemma’s.

“What...are you guys doing here?” Y/N slowly rose from her seat, her eyes switching back and forth between Isaac and Gemma. “Together.”

Isaac worked his jaw, unable to get any word out as he looked over at Gemma imploringly, and she heaved a sigh. Y/N was losing patience with the suspense when Gemma pulled back the hood to reveal her bandaged forehead.

“Oh my God, what happened?” Y/N gasped, pushing past Isaac to grab Gemma’s shoulders. “Did you get into an accident?”

“Y-Yeah.” Gemma looked unconfident, her eyes searching for Isaac’s again. Something was wrong, and neither of them wanted to tell Y/N what it was. She would have been mad if she didn’t have her own problems to worry about. What a crazy day it had been.

She was going to ask Isaac why he’d been the one to take Gemma to the hospital, but he went first. “Why are you here?”

“A friend of mine got into trouble,” she said. It was only fair that she got to be ambiguous too.

“Alice?” Gemma looked concerned.

“No.”

Isaac grimaced. “Eddie?”

“No!” Y/N rolled her eyes at their surprised reactions. “You guys really assume I have only two friends in London?”

“You do have only two friends in London,” Isaac said, beaming, “Besides us.”

Y/N assumed he meant him, Niall, and Harry. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but she wasn’t going to give him that.

For the second time, she meant to ask why he’d taken Gemma here, but right as she opened her mouth, a nurse showed up with a clipboard.

“Miss Styles," she called.

“Yes?” Gemma whipped around as the nurse sauntered right past her like she wasn’t there.

Confused and surprised, they all watched the nurse head toward the end of the hallway, where sat a brunette with her headphones on. Her hair was covering her face as she was looking down at her phone. The nurse had to tap her on the shoulder to get her attention. She glanced up, eyes popping out the moment she saw them. Y/N, Isaac, and Gemma looked like they’d seen a ghost.

“Emilia Styles,” repeated the nurse since Emilia wasn’t looking at her. “You can see your mother now.”

Y/N glanced over at Isaac and Gemma, who looked as if they’d seen a ghost. The nurse said something else to Emilia and went into one of the rooms. Emilia told the nurse she’d be right back as she shoved her headphones into her tote bag, got up and made way toward Y/N, Isaac and Gemma.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said with a pretentious smile; it was the same smile she always wore, but it was only until this moment that Y/N realized how pompous it was.

“Drop the act,” Y/N snapped. “Are you gonna fucking tell us why you’re here? Or should we go ask your mum who is still ALIVE?”

Isaac held her back by the arm before she could even consider doing something to Emilia. She didn’t want to get violent; she wasn’t that type of person. Not yet.

“Fine.” The fake smile disappeared as Emilia stood taller despite having been exposed. “My mum’s alive,” she calmly confessed. “She has cancer, and my dad doesn’t work anymore so I have to take care of them.”

“With Harry’s money?” Gemma snarled. Y/N believed if Gemma’s head wasn’t hurt, she would have already torn Emilia to pieces.

“I didn’t take anything Harry didn’t want to give.” Emilia crossed her arms and lifted her chin, which made Y/N more shocked than angry; she didn’t know it was possible to be this shameless.

“So everything was fake?” Y/N asked. “You made up a nice little story calling your mum crazy for burning down the house and–”

“It was my dad,” Emilia said with her eyes closed as she sucked in an unsteady breath and opened her eyes at the long exhalation. “He was drunk and he set the house on fire. That was after my mum had been diagnosed with cancer. He was very upset because we didn’t have enough money for the treatment. I had to drop out and use my college money for it.” Then she swallowed and looked over at Isaac, who’d been speechless the whole time. “I’m sorry, Isaac. But when we met I recognised you right away. I knew you were Harry’s friend, and I saw you as an opportunity. We had to lie because Harry didn’t trust us at first; he thought Dad was a terrible man–”

“No decent man would lie to his own son to steal his money!”

“We weren’t stealing!” Emilia half-shouted at Gemma then frantically looked around. A few nurses stared at them with concern but no one attempted to interfere. Emilia turned back to Gemma and lowered her voice, “We were gonna tell him everything.”

“When?” Y/N scoffed. “When your mum gets better? Or when you finally become a successful actress living off Harry’s fame?”

“I started with a lie and I had to go through it.” Emilia huffed, her forehead creased. “Things have got so much better since Harry came into our lives. He paid off our bank debt, for Dad’s medicines, for our food. We never asked him for more money. We simply sold the expensive stuff he bought for us as gifts to pay the hospital bills for Mum. I still have to go to work, but now I can also go to auditions. And Harry doesn’t lose anything. He loves Dad, and he’s rich anyway.”

“Harry worked for everything he owns now,” Gemma hissed. “Your dad doesn’t get to live on the money of the son he left and tried to steal from.”

Emilia’s lips quirked in a scornful manner. “You’re just bitter because Dad doesn’t love you.”

Y/N’s gaze jumped to Gemma, whose face was white with shock. She didn’t expect that. None of them expected that. It was so hurtful. Because it was the truth...

“It was my plan. Dad just went along with it,” Emilia went on despite Gemma’s fists shaking as she refrained herself from tackling Emilia to the floor. Emilia knew Y/N and Gemma couldn’t do anything to her in a hospital hallway, and Isaac would never lay hands on a woman. She considered Gemma’s face. “He just wanted my mum to get better. We knew Harry wouldn’t help us if he had to go behind yours and your mum’s back, so I had to reach out to you first. I had to gain your approval.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Gemma sneered and waved her hand when Emilia gazed at her alarmedly. “Do go on. When will we get to the part where you’re forgivable?”

“Say anything you want, but I did it for a reason,” Emilia murmured, her eyes piercing at Gemma. “What are your reasons for cheating on your boyfriend and sleeping with your brother’s best friend?”

Gemma growled and launched herself at Emilia, who jumped right back as Isaac dragged Gemma away. A few nurses had gathered to watch them, unsure if it was necessary to call security. The four of them weren’t really fighting or being loud, but Y/N wasn’t sure how long they could maintain peace.

“Did I say something wrong?” Emilia looked at Isaac, whose eyes fastened on Y/N’s face at once.

“You two?” Y/N stared at him and Gemma in disbelief.

“Asher and I are over, Y/N,” Gemma said, reaching for Y/N’s hand. Y/N let her hold it, only because Y/N was too shocked to move.

“Does Harry know?” she asked quietly. Gemma and Isaac both shook their heads.

“Guess I’m not the only one who lied to Harry after all.”

Isaac shot Emilia a glare even though his features were incredibly calm. “Why haven’t you told him?”

“This isn’t a game of Truth or Dare,” she told him. “I’m not gonna blackmail you into doing something for me in return for my silence. I’m not a good person but I’m not that awful. I just wanted to help my mum. I don’t care what it takes.” Her voice suddenly dropped as she took a step further from them. “And I really liked you, Isaac. I’m sorry.”

Y/N could tell Isaac had a lot he wanted to say to Emilia, but he kept his lips tight because she wasn’t worth it. From the way Emilia was looking at him, she must regret lying to him the most. What about Harry? Harry didn’t deserve this. He’d been nothing but kind to her and Winton.

“Miss Y/L/N?” a nurse interjected. She was the one who’d spoken to Y/N about Laura. “Your friend is awake. Would you like to see her?” she told Y/N, who sighed in relief. At least this night didn’t go all the way down a pit of despair.

“I have to go,” she told Isaac and Gemma.

Isaac caught Y/N’s elbow before she could follow the nurse. “You’re not gonna tell Harry, are you?”

“I’m not gonna do the hard work for you three,” she said, giving all of them – even Emilia – a disappointed look. “You’re all going to tell him tomorrow. Not tonight. I don’t want his night to be ruined as well.” Then she fixed her eyes on Emilia, whose face was blank; either she hid her emotions really well, or she didn’t feel like any normal person would. Y/N stabbed a finger at Emilia, her voice rough, “You and your family better stay the fuck away from my boyfriend, or you’re gonna have to deal with his lawyer, and it won’t be pretty.”

The other nurses looked scared when Y/N caught them watching. She couldn’t even work up a smile as she mouthed the word “sorry” and marched right past them.

#my girl series

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exoticarmy127 · 5 years

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Hi Kaye. I'm a writer who writes fanfiction and hope to be a published author someday. Do you mind telling me how you first started out and eventually got to publish a book? Sorry if this is a repetitive question. I've tried looking through your previously answered questions but couldn't find an answer. I look forward to your answer!

Hello!

I’ve been writing since I was in high school, but it was only in college that I began blogging, writing more seriously and sharing more of my works to the public. Anyone can get published really. First you need a finished (edited) book and then a chosen publisher/agent. After that, look up these publishers and review their submission requirements on their official websites. It varies per agent/editor.

In my case, I started to look for publishers locally and began submitting my works to them. A couple of months later, I received a reply from their editorial assistant expressing their desire to print my work. Two years later, I have Chasing Sunsets & Falling, Falling. For my latest book, Words, Fate & Accidents, it was published by an independent publisher in the US and the process is pretty much the same.

If you think you have a book ready, my advice is that you start looking for a publisher. Know what type of publisher you want though, and see if they’re the proper company to distribute your work. Traditional/big publishers (e.g. Harper Collins, Simon & Schuster, Penguin) don’t accept unagented manuscripts so you have to find an agent first. Prepare a cover letter and whatever submission requirement they ask for. A good place to look for agents and editors is on Manuscript Wishlist. You can also participate in pitch parties/wars on twitter like #PitMad. It’s a good way to get editors and agents’ attention. :) I also suggest following their accounts as well as authors so you know how the industry is going.

Until today, I’m still submitting to agents so don’t be discouraged if it takes a white to get there. I’ve gotten so many rejections and had to wait many months–years, even, to hear back from them. And that’s really normal. The publishing world is quite slow when it comes to submissions, so hang in there and good luck!!!

#replies #on publishing #on writing #advice #writing #publishing #books #agents #editors

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charis2770 · 7 years

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Author: This is a really hard post to write. A lot of you who are reading this already know a little bit of my story, if you follow any of my other blogs. It’s always been important to me not to come off sounding whiny to anyone, because my purpose in creating those blogs has nothing to do with personal gain in any way. I remember being young and confused about my sexuality and my desires. I remember my lack of education about BDSM causing me to make some mistakes that could have had disastrous results. A lot of my writing may be not much more than porn, and it’s definitely meant to entertain, but it’s a lot more than that too. On my blogs, it’s my fervent hope that people will learn something about how BDSM can and should work. That they won’t feel so alone, or feel like freaks, or allow themselves to be abused or taken advantage of. Those things will always be my main goals, and no matter what else happens, I hope to continue to be able to provide a safe haven for everyone to learn how kink should work when it’s done right, and how to keep themselves safe, and to be a place where they’ll be accepted and loved for who they really are.

But I’m going to tell my real story. When I was 22, I met a man. We discovered that we were both into BDSM. I was so excited! A big strong guy (yeah, okay, I admit it, men like Asami and Mike and Erwin and Thor are my weakness) who got off on Dominating his girl, and who made damn good money as an added bonus? I thought I’d found my fairy tale. For a long time, we were really happy. We explored our kinks together. The sex was amazing. We got married.

Then his father’s illness got bad enough that they decided to dissolve their company. He thought finding a new job would be easy. At the same time, I discovered I was pregnant. We’d been married less than 6 months. And he couldn’t find a job. He started painting houses during the day and waiting tables at night. He was a hard worker. But the stress started showing his true colors. He had a temper, and stress brought it out. By the time our daughter was born, I’d learned to be afraid of him. We still had good times. He got a great job back in the city where I’d grown up. Being close to my parents helped. He could go out drinking all he wanted, and I wouldn’t be alone with the baby because my Mom is the best, and lived for being a Grandmother. But it kept getting worse. He decided I didn’t need a safeword because “we knew each other so well.” He’d “punish” me under the guise of consensual BDSM whenever he felt like I’d messed up. He wanted an open marriage. I was cool with it. Partly because I honestly don’t have a jealous bone in my body, and partly because it meant he spent less time with me. It was fine until I found someone I was interested in too. Then he turned into a jealous, angry monster.

During that time, I learned I could be a pretty great Top, and started exploring that part of myself. I got really good. My experience as a sub gave me an empathetic connection with my submissive play partners. Since he controlled all the money, I took several people’s suggestions and tried out being a ProDomme. I was good at that too. My home town wasn’t exactly a hotbed for clients, but I was able to make a little extra money of my own. He hated it, and the verbal, physical and sexual abuse got worse. Then I realized how scared my daughter was. All the time. For her, I was able to do something I couldn’t have done for myself. We moved in with my mother. There is no doubt in my mind that if I had not, and if it hadn’t been for my child, I would have died soon if I hadn’t left. The divorce was hell. We met, and agreed not to bring up the BDSM because he told me the courts might take our child from both o us. I agreed. He outed me. So he got to keep shared custody. And proceeded to abuse our child to the point where they ended up in a psychiatric hospital at age 14. That was just the first stay. There have been several others. It was a long process, but they’re working so hard to be stable, and live the life they choose. They only see him now when they choose to, but the damage he did to both of us will last for the rest of our lives.

On our own, it started to get harder and harder for me to provide for us. With shared custody, there’s little to no child support. My body began to fall apart. Back in 1988, I was in a major car accident in our family truck on January 2. I was driving. I sustained a multiple compound fracture to my right femur, literally erased my nose on the steering wheel (there was nothing but a hole in my face where my nose had been) and serious brain damage. My 15 year old sister was killed. By me. It was an accident, but I still don’t remember how it happened. My parents tried not to blame me, and they did a good job not showing it. But that’s the kind of thing that never leaves you. And now, as I get older (I’m 47 now), the effects of that accident are still taking their toll. I have severe scoliosis that was worsened by the wreck. I have 4 herniated disks, general osteoarthritis, facet syndrome (the small spines the stick out the sides of the lower vertebrae start to lose their connective tissue and bone starts to grind on bone), sacroiliac joint arthritis, and bursitis in my right hip. I have to take 50 mg of morphine twice a day, 7.5 mg of percocet three times a day, and 4 mg of tizanidine (a muscle relaxant) three times a day just to avoid screaming in agony. They don’t help a lot, but they keep me sane. I’m dependent on the drugs. I hate it, but most of my conditions have no treatment. I can’t drive, can’t do chores, and can’t work. I’m trying to get on SSI benefits, but it’s a lengthy process and I’ve already been turned down once. I’ve also lost my medicaid, and am trying desperately to get accepted back into the program. WIthout my meds, I could go into cardiac arrest from the withdrawal symptoms and die.

The one bright side to all of this is that a couple of years ago, one of my followers messaged me with a suggestion about a story she hesitantly asked if she could write with me. I agreed, and we began to communicate. A friendship formed. She flew out to visit because she wanted to meet me in person. I just had a hunch she was someone special, and I was right. She’d come from a pretty rough background herself, having been raised Mormon and having had her family’s religion used as an excuse to abuse her in many ways. She wanted out of Utah so badly, but was too scared to just randomly move to a strange place where she knew no one. During a single two-week visit, we already felt like family. She decided that here with me was where she was meant to be, and he spouse agreed. They moved here, and in with my child and I. She is now my collared, live-in sub, and has become a sister to my genderfluid offspring. All three of the people who live with me work their asses off, but it’s not enough to support all of us, cover our medical expenses, and take care of all our needs.

It kills me that I can’t contribute. I’m the kind of person who needs to take care of people. I love being able to help my followers. It makes me feel like I have a purpose. It’s almost impossible to describe how painful it is to be able to help people I’ve never met but to be useless to my own family. I’m here for them to talk to, but when finances are our biggest problem, I’m no help at all.

That’s the reason for my Patreon. I’m not trying to get rich. I’m never going to spend your hard-earned money on frivolous or selfish things. I want to be able to keep the power on another day. I want us to not have to choose between electricity and having enough to eat that day. I’ve found I can’t promote my Patreon on AO3 anymore, so I’ve created this blog as a place I can direct people to try to explain why this is so important to me. I hate sharing this story that sounds so pitiful. I do have documentation to prove that every word of it is true. I’m not making it up to try to make people feel sorry for me. I need your help. I hate asking for it. I want to be a whole person who can have a job and put money in the bank. But my writing is all I have. Even if you can spare just one dollar a month, you’ll be helping me support my family in a way I haven’t been able to in a long time. It’s humiliating to ask, but my family’s welfare is more important to me than my pride.

So if you like the work I’m doing, I ask that you check out my Patreon and see if there’s a way you can help. It’s set up for monthly pledges, but one-time contributions are an option too, as are story commissions. I’ll be posting some of my drabbles from my blogs and other ideas here as well, so you can experience pieces of my work I don’t publish on AO3 if you’re not a follower of any of my blogs. If you can help in any way, you will have my undying gratitude.

All my love,

Heather

#charis2770 #about the autho #this is my life #why my Patreon exists

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heatherdemetrios-blog · 7 years

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The Space Between Breaths: Transitions in the Artistic Life

For the past year, I’ve been going through a transition, floating in a space between. It’s been three years since my first book came out. There was the before publication life, when I’d yet to sell a book and was dreaming hard. Then there was the after, where I struggled to learn the ropes of being a published author, yet still managed to write and sell one to two books a year, hustling like a mother. During that time there were aborted projects and disappointments, but I focused laser-like attention on my work and career, with little time for much else. Sometimes that paid off, and sometimes it didn’t. One thing it resulted in was a near-breakdown, spiritual and creative depletion, and an increasing existential dread that followed me around to the point where I felt like Edward Snowden, always looking over my shoulder.

This was unsustainable. A life of waiting for the other shoe to drop is not a good life. And a writer who doesn’t write, or who writes but finds no joy in it, does not a happy writer make. It also, incidentally, makes it hard to sell more books. The nervy you feel about a project somehow winds itself through the text, an X factor that makes or breaks a book. My books were breaking. I was breaking. So began my year of transition, which began in July 2016, an awakening of sorts that’s still very much in progress. This wasn’t intentional, not something I planned as a great experiment. It just sort of happened. Out of necessity and desperation and a nameless need.

This year of transition actually started in Spring 2016, though I had no idea that this was what was happening. I started devouring books like I used to, back when I wasn’t writing three of them at a time. I literally bought and read every single JoJo Moyes book I could find (okay, I’ve saved a couple because it’s too depressing, a life without a JoJo book to look forward to), after discovering Me Before You on a Barnes and Noble table. I was working—I had revisions and copyedits and submissions. But when I sent in the last thing that was due, in mid-June, I unwittingly gave myself a for-real break. It was on accident—I didn’t realize I was taking a break until the month of July passed with me having written only a handful of words, most of them non-fiction. I got ideas, I threw ideas away—I briefly considered learning Russia and moving to Moscow. The bulk of my writing was for a residency application I never sent in, as well as the occasional blog post or lengthy email. I began meditating, reconnected with my spiritual side, read lots of books, treated myself to copies of Vogue, discovered the delights of the French 75 cocktail, and took a poetry class. I basked in sunshine and visited with friends and family. There were still stressful writerly moments: two rewrites gone bad, dismal royalty statements. But for the first time in years, writing was not the most important thing. The most important thing was me. It was as though my soul had given me one of those piercing looks and said, My dear, you are the canvas.

Eureka.

I followed my curiosity, each urge a trail of will-o’-the-wisps that led me deeper into my inner landscape, with its turbulent sea, floating glaciers, and craggy mountains set against endless dunes (yes, somehow my innards resemble Morocco, Ireland, and Iceland). In Big Magic, Elizabeth Gilbert says: I believe that curiosity is the secret. Curiosity is the truth and the way of creative living. She’s absolutely right. I found such joy poking around in New Age stores and going down the Wiki hole of Romanov research and planning a trip to Prague. I delighted in the plethora of self-help books I kept hearing about, got into essential oils, and finally took a Pilates class. I bought strange rings and drank beer and even started liking kale. I got a Reiki treatment and bought my first deck of Tarot cards and I campaigned for Hillary Clinton. I bought a Nasty Woman shirt and protested with thousands of women all over the world, reigniting that little Marxist-Anarchist activist that has been hiding inside me since the Bush years. I made a few big life decisions, some quite seismic, some still in progress. I grieved, felt confusion, wonder, awe, gratitude, love, solidarity, despair. I probably drank more wine after November 8th than in the rest of my life combined. I cooked my first steak. I began living according to these wise words from Elsie De Wolfe: I am going to make everything around me beautiful. That will be my life. Fresh flowers scattered about the house. Crystals lined up on windowsills. A skirt with red roses splashed across the fabric. I see the changes that all this adventuring has wrought everywhere: in my home, my body, my mind, my spirit. And yet, the writing will not budge.

I am still trekking up a damnably high mountain, hoping to reach a summit and praying there’s a nice little valley on the other side of it, with cool spring water and long, fragrant grass I can lie in when I look at the stars. Alas, creativity is uncharted territory—ever ineffable, a tricksy landscape complete with quicksand, dark forests, and, well, you get the metaphor. I confess, there have been a few occasions in which I actually uttered the phrase, Why am I doing this? Or I don’t want to be a writer anymore. I’m not sure if I meant it or not. I suspect maybe I did. It sounds ever so wonderful to leave work at work, to have boundaries between oneself and what one does for a living, to not be in constant artistic torture.

The election and its aftermath was a huge blow that I’m still recovering from. I don’t think I realized how much it affected my ability to be creative until quite recently, when I realized I have to rewrite a bogart of a book I’m working on for the third time. I cannot overstate how unlike me this is. I’ve never spent two years after selling a book trying to rewrite it. It’s madness. Maddening. But when I began to connect the dots, I could see that the bulk of the problem began in the beginning of 2016—a coincidence? I think not. As I said in an email to the book’s editor: I’m sorry for being the world’s shittiest writer. I blame Trump.

I blamed my mental health and my infernal inability to understand how time works. I blamed New York City for being so goddamn expensive and loud and distracting and fabulous. I also blamed myself, for not taking my own good advice that I give to my clients and that I myself know works. I only give advice when I’ve learned something (usually the hard way), when I know that something is tried and true. As a creativity coach, I tell my clients that each book is a different beast, and that’s true. And also that writing is a marathon (not a race), that you will never be a master, that you will always be learning, and that you should trust the process: the not knowing, the frustration—these are just hazards of the job and an essential part of the process. But each time I find myself uncertain creatively, these lessons are hard to remember. A girl has to eat, you know.

One thing my meditation teachers like to talk about is the space between breaths. In mindfulness meditation, you focus on the inhale and exhale, using it to anchor your mind in the present. Between each round of inhalation and exhalation, there is a pocket of pure being, where your body has a moment to bask in its existence, where nothing is required of it. It can’t last very long because your lungs need air, but for just a sliver of time, you are infinite. Free-floating. This is also a space for transition, much shorter than my year of transition, but equally powerful. You can discover things there, though it may take you years, or even a lifetime to figure out. You might even see what you’re made of.

This is an essential part of the meditation process. These pockets of no-breath are not simply a bridge between breaths, links on the path to nirvana. They are teaching moments, rich in the kind of knowledge that lives deep in your bones. It’s the same with the transitions in an artist’s life. The space between projects, between ideas, between inspiration and creative wastelands—this is, paradoxically, where the good stuff lives. Transitions are opportunities to grow, to heal, and to change. They give you space (whether you want it to not) to reassess your work, your craft, your goals. These sometimes involve dark nights of the soul, real reckonings that bring who you are and why you do what you do into sharp focus. Sometimes you won’t like what you see. Transitions, from an artistic point of view, are absolutely necessary. Think about the period when Bowie fled to Berlin, intent on getting clean and reconnecting to his art. He called his cocaine years in Los Angeles, where he embodied the Thin White Duke persona, “the darkest days of my life.” Despite being a rock star, he was going broke and Berlin, at the time, was a cheap place to live while he was in recovery. In Europe, he began visiting galleries, working on self-care through literature and classical music education, and, of course, kicking his cocaine habit and exploring Berlin’s music scene. His roommate was Iggy Pop, and I like to imagine them sitting around late at night, trading notes and blowing each other’s minds. What resulted was the Berlin trilogy, a rich artistic period and a turning point in his life.

Of course, not all transitions need to be so dramatic, and I’m still trying to figure out what this one means for me. When I look back, what will I call this year (or, God forbid, years)? Will I look on it fondly, or shudder, grateful that it’s over? I can’t imagine not being thankful for it. Already, I’m seeing my interests in what I want to write expand in unexpected ways. Adult fiction, young adult nonfiction, historical. I’m not quite sure where I’ll land. I’m getting ideas, but am wary of investing too much in anything. I think I’m still getting my sea legs. Meditation, exercise, and healthy eating habits are helping. As is travel and working with my clients, who inspire me every day. I’m taking lots of notes because I suspect that as much as I’m learning right now about what it means to be an artist in transition, I suspect there’s even more to glean from this time later, when I can see how all the dots connected.

Being a creative doesn’t suit our modern world, not if you’re an Artist with a capital A. Because art needs quiet, time, space, privacy. All things that are hard to come by these days, especially in Brooklyn. I stopped using my private Facebook account, rarely leave the apartment, and turn a deaf ear to industry chatter. It’s been a long time since I finished a project. Everything I’m working on is in a different stage and often ends up being cast aside or totally reworked. So of course the age old question of how to make a living as an artist rears its ugly head. If you aren’t producing, you aren’t getting paid. So while artistic explorations sound great on paper, in reality, it’s the paper itself you start worrying about.

It’s becoming increasingly hard for artists to make a living—just take a look at Trump’s budget proposal, with threatens to cut the NEA out of existence. It’s especially difficult for writers because of the plethora of content out there. Jesus, how many blogs and websites and articles can exist? With newspapers and magazines folding left and right, writers are forced to make some pretty tough choices. These concerns are ever present, and they will be for the foreseeable future. Of course, being an artist has always involved financial acrobatics. Chekhov paid the bills through a medical practice, and Tolstoy had to self-publish War and Peace. I’m in good company. I’ve very much begun to appreciate Elizabeth Gilbert’s words in Big Magic about how your job as an artist is to take care of your creativity, not the other way around. It’s been interesting, cobbling together an income that all leads back to writing, but isn’t necessarily writing. Teaching and coaching and editing allows me to talk about what I love—writing, the artistic process, and creative living—and to help my fellow writers on their own journeys. It also gives me the chance to take care of my writing, rather than requiring it to pay all the bills. I’m already seeing the seeds I’m planting blossoming. For the first time in a long time, I’m allowing myself to consider alternative ways of living and alternative approaches to my writing. Maybe I don’t publish a book every year. Maybe I don’t only write in YA. Maybe I play a whole lot more in my creative process. Maybe I take time to take care of myself.

The journey continues, endless and exciting and horrible and wonderful, an adventure I’m honored to have. I take a breath, exhale, and rest in the transition, looking forward to whatever comes next.

#pneumacreative creativitycoaching quotes writing heatherdemetrios #meditation

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itcowcer · 7 years

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Subject: Pumpkin Patch

Paul Holland [email protected] 2:05 AM (6 hours ago) to Mark

Heeeeey Mark!

So I know it's been a while, and I wanted to give you a quick heads-up on what’s going on and why I haven’t sent any drafts in recent history. Let's be real, it’s been months. But I want you to know that I haven't just been laying around over here, and that I do have something planned to give to you. It's just not ready yet. Sorry :( Now I'm not trying to tease you; I've hit a wall. What I do have is a bunch of source materials which (I hope) will prove to you that I'm building something, potentially pretty big, for my next novel. That's Right!!!! I've been researching Mark!!!! Who would've thought I knew how. Anyways, I thought this might tide you over until the rough draft or, at the most, spur you to send some seed money..... ;) You will find the sources in the subsequent attachments to this email. I think they kind of speak for themselves, but if you need me to elaborate on what I'm thinking just shoot me a message and I will give you deets.

Pleasure as always [?]

Paul

Paul Holland [email protected] 2:56 AM (5 hours ago) to Mark

Whoops! I forgot to attach the sources in that last message. Oh well, I will take better care to attach them this time. I figure I should go ahead and let you know what's going through my head right now, just so we are on the same page. First off, all of this is real. All of this stuff has apparently occurred or is currently occurring, and I've been able to pick up more bits and pieces the longer I've stayed in town (hence the long turn around). Where am I? I don't particularly want to tell you. For that reason I've redacted some information which might clue you into my whereabouts. I'm sure with a certain amount of cyber- sleuthing you'd be able to pinpoint my location, as some of the major points I just cannot change. However by that point I figure it will be too much work for you anyways. DO NOT COME AFTER ME! This story is too good for me to pass up on. I'm only messaging you as a courtesy, and to let you know that I haven't forgotten the money I owe you. I will hopefully be able to pay you back with this novel's completion.

Now onto content. I found this story, of all places, in the newspaper. Yeah it was this grotesque murder which had all of the city community in a hubbub. It was strange too, like ritualistic and such. I've included the short blurb I found in the newspaper, it should be the 3rd attachment. Of course I saved it. I wasn't sure where to go next with my writing and everyone loves true crime or at least a good murder mystery. Then, in the next week, I saw a couple other odd articles (I have attached them as well). One is a letter of resignation from one of the news paper's journalists, due to some kind of journalist ethical concern. Apparently he hasn’t been heard of since. Like completely disappeared. For some reason I was sure that the initial murder, and the later disappearance were related, though I couldn't figure how.

This forced me to dig a little further and I think what I found is captivating at least. Even if I'm grasping at straws I think it tells a compelling narrative, and might sell. I found a small interview, written by the Journalist that disappeared, in regards to a cultural movement within the city. As it turns out this place has a long history of creepy shit, like underground slave prisons, civil war ghosts, a history of catastrophic fires, train accidents, macabre poets, dilapidated asylums turned apartment complexes, and even a vampire legend. No kidding! The guy is entombed down at this old cemetery that overlooks the river. Well the interview is with a member of this group of artists, all of whom were trying to keep this inherent creepiness a part of the city's culture. Though she went by a code name, as all members of Pumpkin Patch do to remain anonymous (in this case kittykat666(=^.^=). I believed that she was the victim in the murder. Having contacted the victim’s parents, I asked if they knew anything about the group Pumpkin Patch. Only the mother would respond, with an invitation to meet with her. Though the meeting was brief, she gave me a series of her daughter's journal entries, a forwarded set of emails between her and her daughter on the topic, and permission to use these things in publishing my next book, so long as I didn't use her daughter's name.

The first attachment is the newspaper interview with kittykat666(=^.^=) It describes really well what the group is about, and how it operates, and it shows you where I'm leaning for main characters (the girl and the journalist). I think it introduces everything well. The second is the girl's journal entries (at least the ones I've deemed relevant). All of these pertain to Pumpkin Patch and they really get you to see who this poor girl was and how she got sucked into this whole mess. The next attachment is the first article blurb I found, the one that describes the murder. The fourth attachment is the letter of resignation from the journalist who interviewed “Kat”. I figure I will just forward those emails that the mother sent to me. There aren't many of them, however there is some character building stuff there. You can see the loving family “Kat” and her mother had before. They also show how the two found Pumpkin Patch. Sorry in advance, the mother has no clue of grammar. I have also included one last attachment, which is unnerving and chilling when you understand how the group finds its inspiration. It's a series of screen shots I took from the group’s auction site. Here, they post a bunch of their work for buyers. They had just posted a new auction when I checked out the site page. Pay attention to the groups shared theme in the artwork.

Whew! That was a lot for an email! Let me know what you think! Paul

Paul Holland [email protected] 2:59 AM (5 hours ago) to Mark

-_____-

Paul

Attachment 1, Attachment 2, Attachment 3, Attachment 4, Attachment 5

Paul Holland [email protected] 3:08 AM (5 hours ago) to Mark

Weird. Someone just rang the door bell to my apartment. I went to go check and no one was there. I'm a little unnerved, especially given what I've just sent you (that subject matter which is still fresh in my mind). I'm not entirely sure it's nothing, but realistically it’s probably nothing so I'm going to get these emails to you and then cool off. Here you go,

Paul

forwarded message

From: [************] To: [email protected] Cc: Sent: [, * *** **** ::**] Subject: opportunities ;)

Hey Kit Kat i hope everything is going better. i know that finding friends can be rough in college but im sure there are a ton of great clubs over there. Just get off your little butt and look!!!! :p only teasing. Also your father should be put that money back into ur college fund. Evidently he needed to buy his new gal pal a car lol. The man's no good! Either way i will make sure everything is all set, u just worry about school work and meeting people and HAVING FUN!!! Let me know if you need anything, im just a phone call away!!!

Love, Mom

. . .

Resp:opportunities ;)

Thanks Mom. Everything is fine, I was just a little worried because the tuition bill is overdue and it needs to be paid in order for me to sign up for classes next semester. He's buying her a CAR!!!!! SMH! SMDH! But my classes are going well. I actually turned in my first couple of paintings and the professor really liked them. He told me I thought out of the box, already had a unique style, and that I should keep pushing myself. He said that I might run into trouble when we start doing other forms, but that he'd help me if I need it. I thought that the class wouldn't like my work or be weirded out, but all in all I got good responses and helpful critiques. Some people in my class invited me to hangout, idk I might go.

. . .

Resp:resp:opportunities ;)

Oh kitty thats great! im glad your classes are going well. And you should SPEND TIME WITH THOSE CLASSMATES!!! Jeeesh!!! Also i am not sure what SMH stands for. i tried to think but cant. :( i did some looking because i knew u wouldnt and i found a club that you might enjoy. They are artists in the area who have auction events, have group meetings and they seem to do a lot in the area. it might be the kind of thing to set u on an art career, if thats what u want to do. i just happened to hear about them and i looked up their site. A lot of their work looks right up ur alley! There is a submission section on their page, and maybe u can send in some of you drawings? i was surprised by how much they were selling for, and i think a lot of ur work is better. I will send you the link. There called the Pumpkin Patch. Thats kinda cute!

Love ya! Mom

. . .

Resp:resp:resp:opportunities ;)

Yeah I'll look it up and send something in. I'll also try hanging out with my class, I'm not sure what we will be doing. Thank you for everything. Love you Too! P.s. SMH is Shaking My Head.

forwarded message

From: [************] To: [email protected] Cc: Sent: [, * *** **** ::**] Subject: Pumpkin Patch

Remember that group you were talking about? Pumpkin Patch. I submitted one of my works and it got accepted. I think you'd remember the one, it had that spider made out of sewing needles and thimbles, strung up in a wire web, the one that I got an award for in school. The group admin sent me an email and wanted to know why I wanted to join the group so I kinda bullshitted an answer and I guess they liked it. I'm supposed to go to a meeting with them, however I have to wear a mask and create an artist name which is kind of weird. I guess they want all the artists to be anonymous even to each other. I told them that that made me uncomfortable, but they assured me that the meeting will be on campus. I'm going to see what it is and drop it if its too sketch. I guess most meetings are online, but bimonthly meetings are in person.

. . .

Resp:Pumpkin Patch

Kit Kat. Idk this sounds a little scary. i wish i had known all that before i sent you the link. Be careful there are a lot of weirdos out there and i dont want u to get hurt. u are a grown women and i hope you will use you best discretion. There is always your classmates, and maybe starting a group with them would be better for you. How did that go with them? I expect you to call me soon.

Be safe, Mom

. . .

Resp:resp:Pumpkin Patch

Please don't freak out but I ended up going to that meeting. It was cool though. We kind of just sat around, discussing what the next theme will be, what scary movies we like that kind of thing. We also planned a little get together at a museum. There are a couple other girls there so I think it's fine. I kind of know one of the people in the group too, although I'm not supposed to. He was actually one of the guys I hung out with last week. He's not in my art class but he is a year above us so everyone knows him. He sort of let it slip that he was in the Pumpkin Patch when we were all hanging out. He assured me that it wasn't going to be weird and that the mask thing was more like a gimmick than anything else, to make the group interesting. That night with my class was fun too, we just sat around a fire pit talking, eating hot dogs, sharing stories. Somebody had a guitar and they all started singing these old songs. They are a good group. I'm going to spend time with them again.

. . .

Resp:resp:resp:Pumpkin Patch

Well im glad that you had a good time. Just remember to be careful, and that u dont have to do anything u dont want to, and CALL YOUR MOTHER. Also im glad you met some nice people. Is there anyone I should be meeting anytime soon? ;)

Please call, I worry Mom

forwarded message

From: [************] To: [email protected] Cc: Sent: [, * *** **** ::**] Subject: What's Up!!!

Hello Kathryn? Im not sure if you remember me, however im YOUR MOTHER! What's been going on? u haven't called me in a while. I hope you've started thinking about housing for next year. Dont worry about the price its all being paid for by ur father. Also I see that you have another exhibition thingy coming up with your Pumpkin Patch. Im thinking about coming down and rooting u on, seeing as u failed to mention the last one. What do you think?

. . .

Resp:What's Up!!!

Yeah I've been looking at some places. Some friends and I are thinking about getting an apartment together a little off campus. I will let you know what we find. Also that first exhibition wasn't a big thing, and I didn't think you'd want to miss work for it. This next one's not a big deal either and I'm not even going to be there, we aren't supposed to associate with or present our work in order to retain the whole aura of mystery. We can still check it out if you want, we just can't let anyone know that I'm a collaborating artist. Also I can't tell you which work is mine, sorry. :/ We can go to this nice little french restaurant after. I just went there recently with a close friend of mine, it just might be my favorite place in town now :3. Let me know when you're in the area.

forwarded message

From: [************] To: [email protected] Cc: Sent: [, * *** **** ::**] Subject: New Exhibition

Hey Mom, I know that there is another exhibition coming up, however I'd prefer that you didn't come to this one. I had fun last time, it's just that I don't think I'd be comfortable with you being there. Also I've decide to leave the group. I just didn't like where it was going and it didn't feel the same as when we first started. That's part of the reason why this latest exhibition would be no good. Also things are falling through at the apartment so I'm trying to find another one for the rest of the semester. I'll send you the places I've found. So far the rent will only be slightly more expensive. Also my roommates already have someone lined up to sublet so we don't have to worry about paying for two places. I will call you soon, and I love you.

Kat

Mark Gergich [email protected] 7:13 AM (1 hour ago) to Paul

Paul,

I just read through everything you’ve emailed me. The forwards, the attachments... everything. Paul Pick up the phone, let me know where you are, I am concerned. I think you may have stumbled onto something that needs to be taken care of by the police. Please Paul. Do not write this book. Don't worry about debts you think you owe me, I'm not worried about that I just want you to come out of this safely without a target on your back. You need to STOP writing this book.

Your friend and publisher, Mark

Paul Holland [email protected] 8:06 AM (3 Minutes ago) to Mark

Mark,

He says I can’t.

Paul

#pumpkinpatch #PP #itcowcer #writing

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richmegavideo · 5 years

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‘Jane the Virgin’ Review: That 7-Minute Epic Monologue Is Everything That’s Great About the Series

[Editor’s Note: The following contains spoilers from “Jane the Virgin” Season 5 premiere episode, “Chapter Eighty-Two.”]

“Jane the Virgin” returned in top form Wednesday night for the premiere of its final season and resolved two cliffhangers: Who JR (Rosario Dawson) shot and the apparent return of Jane’s husband Michael (Brett Dier) from the dead after four years. Both of these sensationalized stories stay true to the show’s telenovela roots, but the latter is this season’s pièce de résistance, through which the show explores how Jane (Gina Rodriguez) has grown and the ways that one forms a sense of self.

It turns out that this man is indeed Michael, but through an elaborate scheme, someone faked his death and gave him amnesia with electroshock therapy. He now calls himself Jason — after Jason Bourne — and has built a life for himself in Montana. Jason isn’t anything like Michael; he lacks humor, speaks in a slow drawl, and — most distressingly — is no longer a cat person (sorry, Faith N. Whiskers III). He has no memory of Jane or any of the Villanueva clan, and even his palate and preferences have changed.

Read More:‘Jane the Virgin’ Final Season Will Be a ‘Pornography of Emotion’

As viewers, it’s disturbing to watch this man who looks like Michael treat his own wife like a stranger, and for Jane, it’s even harder to experience this firsthand. Michael’s personality reset makes her question her concept of what forms identity — not only for him, but herself as well. In an extended, seven-minute, one-take scene that screams “Emmy submission,” Rodriguez delivers a speech that reveals Jane’s inner turmoil. And while the show is known for its signature twists, colorful narration, and imaginative use of graphics, Jane’s monologue encapsulates why the show’s merits run deeper than those surface quirks.

Andrea Navedo and Gina Rodriguez, “Jane the Virgin”

The CW

The series has always been a master of tone: balancing the lighthearted, campier aspects with an unwavering heartfelt core. The monologue takes the viewers on an emotional ride as Jane confides in her mother Xo (Andrea Navedo) and grandmother Alba (Ivonne Coll) about her confusion and fears. It’s not an accident that her family is there in the scene, present and supportive as they’ve always been throughout the series. As Jane spins out, consumed with the implications of Michael’s return, she becomes absent-minded, forgetting to heat the kettle, rambling with her mouth full, and eventually just walking around without her pants. It’s these small, hilarious details that give the show its emotional authenticity, embracing sentiment without devolving into melodrama (at least when it comes to Jane’s journey). Expect to cry at least once per episode for this final run.

Read More:The CW Boss on ‘Jane the Virgin’ and ‘Crazy Ex-Girlfriend’ Emmy Snubs: ‘Never Got the Accolades They Deserved’

The monologue also showcases the series’ presentation of the Latinx-American cultural experience in an everyday, matter-of-fact way. Even though chunks of Alba’s Spanish-spoken dialogue are translated through subtitles, when Jane sprinkles in cognates such as “inhala, exhala,” it’s not accompanied with onscreen text. It simply exists for the viewer to accept. Similarly, when Jane pauses mid-ramble to ask her grandmother if she made arepas, no awkward explanation is given for what that food is. Instead, Jane is simply seen eating it. As with shows like “Fresh Off the Boat” and “Vida,” “Jane” aims to normalize, not Otherize these cultural aspects.

Most of all, the speech goes to the heart of what “Jane the Virgin” is all about: the growth of Jane and how she defines herself. She’s embraced being a widow and the grief that comes with it for so long, she has no clue what she’s supposed to feel now that Michael is alive. And yet, because he’s forgotten her, she doesn’t feel like a wife, but instead feels rejected, negated. This confusion is reflected in her comment to the cat, “Faith N. Whiskers, you remember that person who loved you so much because he was a cat person? Well, guess what? You’re out!”

In the same vein, Michael has stopped being a Jane person. Or has he? An ongoing line that viewers have latched onto throughout the seasons involves one of Michael’s comments about always believing that he and Jane belong together. The omniscient narrator once proclaimed that Michael would never stop loving Jane, “and for as long as Michael lived, until he drew his very last breath, he never did.” But if Michael is no longer Michael, what does this mean for his love for Jane?

Gina Rodriguez, “Jane the Virgin”

The CW

It’s an existential dilemma that Jane as a writer can’t help but trying to categorize or identify. “You tell all these stories about yourself and that’s who you are. That’s your identity,” she says. “And I’m a widow… I mean, that’s not all that I am. I’m a mother and a daughter and a published-freaking-author.”

In fact, from the outset, the show has tried to define Jane through its title. “Jane the Virgin” outlines the show’s premise, but post-virginity, the series has taken a creative approach to the title by crossing out or eliminating the word “Virgin” onscreen and replacing it with a new identifier. For this episode, she has been labeled “Jane the Forgotten.” Next week, she’ll have a new moniker. It’s thrilling to discover new aspects of this person week to week. She is all of those things, but in the end, no matter what the designation is, it’s enough that she is just Jane.

Grade: B+

”Jane the Virgin” airs Wednesdays at 9/8c on The CW.

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#Hip Hop

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funnythingshere0-blog · 6 years

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Hundreds of Omahans tell us what they don't like about Omaha

New Post has been published on http://funnythingshere.xyz/hundreds-of-omahans-tell-us-what-they-dont-like-about-omaha/

Hundreds of Omahans tell us what they don't like about Omaha

To see the full-ish list of responses, click here.

Note: Yes, yes, this is a little negative, but we’re not purely haters. We’ve also asked Omahans what they LOVE about Omaha. See what they said here.

Nothing’s perfect.

(That’s not entirely true. Perfection was attained. Just once — with Radiohead’s “Let Down,” a track on their 1997 album, “OK Computer.” The song stands as the pinnacle of civilization.)

But people — people — are most certainly not perfect. In fact, imperfection might be the defining characteristic of that hairy bipedal creature we call you and me. We’re a disaster! It’s kind of our thing.

The towns and cities we call home reflect this imperfection, each burg a hot mess holding thousands or millions of smaller hot messes — the small hot messes pairing up to make more small hot messes, compounding the heat and messiness of the overall picture.

All of this is to say that I’m sorry you’re about to read a column that throws a few bad vibes the way of Omaha and Omahans. But neither the city nor the citizens are perfect.

Here’s the thing: To hate a thing about a thing does not mean you hate the whole thing. Just a part of the thing.

You can love your city (or your spouse, your friends, your job) but still have problems with it. Plus, one of the great joys of being alive is complaining about things. It’s why we’re all here!

Overall, I received nearly 500 responses to the question, via email, Twitter and Survey Monkey. The bulk of the responses were anonymous, but many respondents attached their names to their pet peeves.

The responses, though specific to Omaha, would no doubt reflect the pet peeves of similarly sized cities: traffic, commute times, bad drivers.

The overwhelming majority of pet peeves were, no surprise here, related to Omaha drivers (too fast, too slow, don’t know how to merge). Or matters related to driving (road conditions, lack of public transportation options). Other responses ranged from the general (west Omaha) to the specific (the traffic light on 78th Street and Military Avenue!). From the trivial (no In-N-Out Burger!) to the serious (entrenched racial segregation) — “pet peeve” is a woefully inadequate label for serious concerns, and I’m sorry about that.

Some responders took umbrage with the negative premise of this question (fair), and some said what they hate the most about Omaha is me (super fair). I have tried to give them a voice, as well. I’ve broken up the responses into a range of categories.

Here, then, are your most prevalent pet peeves about Omaha.

Traffic backs up on eastbound Interstate 80 in Omaha.

CHRIS MACHIAN/THE WORLD-HERALD

Pet peeve: bad drivers

Of the near-500 responses, the most popular pet peeve by far was Omaha’s bad drivers. In fact, the vast majority of complaints were related to driving period. (Omahans, like most humans, are most unhappy in their cars.)

This critique of Omaha drivers is backed up by data. Quote Wizard, an insurance comparison shopping tool, named Omaha drivers the worst of any of the 75 most populous cities in the U.S. Their rankings were determined by the number of accidents, speeding tickets, DUIs and citations like running a red light or using a cellphone while driving.

Reader responses:

(Note: The categories offer just a sampling of the responses received. Longer submissions have been edited for length and clarity. A more comprehensive list of responses, excluding those that were racist or mentioned people by name, are collected at the end of the article.)

No matter how much the “zipper merge” is touted, I see motorists try to block those trying to merge going eastbound past 72nd Street on my daily commute (Maple, Blondo, Cass). Those who pile up in the left lane block those trying to get in the left turn lane and back up traffic unnecessarily. Many more cars could get through a light if they would simply allow gentle merges.

— Terri Falin, 50, Omaha

There seems to be an attitude of righteousness on our streets. To the point it endangers others. How do we get to the place where we are kinder, gentler drivers as a city? Morning traffic reports are incomprehensible with all the careless driving.

— Sara Kelley, 56, Omaha

You want to know what grinds my gears the most about Omaha? Irrationally slow drivers. You know the sort: They drive 38 mph when it’s sunny and 85 degrees outside, on roads with a 45-mph speed limit. They merge onto West Dodge at 47 mph, noticeably increasing congestion. Newsflash folks: If the speed limit is 55, you should be traveling 55 when you reach the end of the on-ramp.

— Pete B., Omaha, 29

The horrific drivers. I’ve lived in New York City and tourist towns that see millions of new drivers on the roads during peak season. And I’ve never been more scared being on the road than I am in Omaha!

— Meghan Russo, Omaha

Why does everyone here inch up past the line on every red light and then, when it finally does turn green, have to sit there for a minute like they are confused as to what they should be doing? Then we come to the “left-lane parkers.” These are the folks who immediately get all the way over on the freeway and drive about 4 mph under the speed limit and then get upset when you pass on the right.

Want to read the best and most essential Omaha.com content? Sign up for our Subscriber Plus digital plan.

Pet peeve: just anything related to driving

The driving grievances continued with complaints about road conditions, construction delays, potholes, traffic, traffic lights, lack of public transportation and people being unwilling to walk or bike. (A story about our road conditions made it into the New York Times last year.)

Outside of bad drivers, this flavor of gripe was the most common.

Responses:

The average person’s unwillingness to walk more than one block to get anywhere and the constant complaining about the lack of parking downtown, in Blackstone, in Benson, near the arena after they put — gasp! — buildings on Lot B. There is an abundance of parking everywhere if you would just figure out how to repeatedly put one foot in front of the other for a stretch of three to four blocks. I know you can do it!

— Danny O’Byrne, 30, lived in Omaha his first 25 years and now lives in Pittsburgh

Our obsession with parking or our cars, or driving, or the lack of parking. Call it what you want, but I hate that the majority of Omahans are scared of public transportation, biking or, God forbid, walking more than two blocks from where they parked their car to have dinner at the restaurant they are about to go to.

— Colin Dorwart, 29, Omaha

Lack of or limited bike/pedestrian trails. Des Moines and Lincoln have amazing trails on which you can get almost anywhere in the town with very limited street riding. Omaha’s trails are very broken up and require a lot of on-street riding as even areas with sidewalks are nearly impossible to ride. They’re either too narrow, often obstructed by trees or other debris, or are in disrepair and likely to cause a wreck. Given the poor driving our city has, I don’t dare ride on most streets.

— Ashley Harris, 32, Omaha

Hate is too strong of a word, but do you know what really grinds my gears? The excessive stop lights in certain parts of town that are not needed due to traffic usage. And the lights in the Old Market that stop the ebb and flow of traffic because their timing is completely off. Go a block, stop, red light, go a block, stop, red light. It’s like they purposely create congestion, and then we wonder about emissions that are creating air pollution.

— Ron Garvais, Omaha

The only answer should be the lack of public transit. It doesn’t feel like a big city because everything is NOT within reach without insane amounts of planning. Uber’s great, but so are light rails and buses.

— Nathan Jacobsen

Read more about Omaha streetcar developments:

The Omaha Civic Auditorium is demolished in 2016.

MEGAN FARMER/THE WORLD-HERALD

Pet peeve: structural and/or cultural concerns

Some of the issues raised in this category are far too complicated and serious to address in the article before you. Readers brought up crime, racial segregation, economic development, job creation and several other important topics. If you want to stay in the know about such matters, my much-smarter colleagues do an excellent job of covering and explaining these things on Omaha.com each and every day.

Responses:

In spite of Omaha’s low-key charms, the city lacks a central progressive intent. I see it in the resistance to the streetcar proposal. The list of projects torpedoed because of lack of vision or expense goes on and on. The Union Pacific headquarters building razed, leaving behind a grass-covered hole in our downtown core for a decade. The Civic Auditorium knocked down with no plan to build something new where it stood. Crossroads Mall, a derelict eyesore lacking a plan for its rejuvenation. Young people witness this developmental gridlock and wince. Then they go looking elsewhere for brighter lights and a hipper scene.

There are no mountains, oceans or sandy beaches here. Omaha must create its own sense of style. Panache! To do it requires determination, creativity and expense … an investment. In my opinion, Nebraskans’ sensible and unadorned inferiority complex of “we can’t do that” holds us back. We can do it. We must do it!

— Kevin Arthur Penrod, 59, Omahan and Dundee homeowner

That sidewalk-less sprawl continues in the exurbs while new and rehabbed low- and middle-income housing in the city center lacks investment.

— Barbara Soderlin, Omaha, and a former World-Herald reporter

— August Krzycki, 30, a former Omahan who recently moved to Salt Lake City

Omaha will always be home … It’s nostalgic. It’s where my family is. The things I truly hate about Omaha amount to the same things that I hate about America. Omaha is America. It’s sprawly wastelands of suburbia, a morbidly overbuilt automobile slum, dismembered and gutted inner cities, and new urban infill categorized by the same boxy, modernist-contemporary crap that developers are slapping up in every city (most likely replacing something irreplaceable that was torn down for a parking lot decades ago … or last year). Because it’s all we have the wherewithal to do, or expect.

— Aaron J. Detter, 34, an urban and regional planner who grew up in Omaha and now lives in Decorah, Iowa

Want to read the best and most essential Omaha.com content? Sign up for our Subscriber Plus digital plan.

Motorists travel slowly east on Pacific Street near S. 156th Street as snow falls in Omaha.

BRENDAN SULLIVAN/THE WORLD-HERALD

Pet peeve: the weather

In particular the winter but also the wind.

Responses:

I hate the winter weather. Grew up here and didn’t mind it until I met and got married to a Florida girl.

— Jim Bosanek

Winter. The rest is great!

— Becky Spadea

Really, just January. And I guess February.

— TJ McDougal

Pet peeve: west Omaha

A bit of west Omaha trash talk.

There’s nothing to do in West Omaha. All of the good restaurants, nightlife and events are east of 90th.

Pet peeve: People who complain about west Omaha

And a bit of trash talk about people who trash-talk west Omaha.

The people who complain about west Omaha, then turn around and say that they never go to west Omaha.

— Tony Warner

Pet peeve: taxes

A lot of people voiced their displeasure at taxes. Just taxes in general. Property taxes, wheel taxes.

Pet peeve: not enough to do

Many were disappointed with Omaha for its lack of an In-N-Out Burger. Others wish Omaha were closer to mountains, lakes, oceans and amusement parks. Some want a Waffle House, others a professional sports team.

Responses:

It’s boring. No mountains. No ocean. Winters suck.

— Matthew McKenna, Omaha

The lack of an In-N-Out Burger.

— Clint Meyers, Omaha

How do we not have an In-N-Out Burger?

— Bill Fleck, Omaha

Too few Tex-Mex choices, no Whataburger, no Church’s Chicken. No place to get fried okra. It’s a misplaced Texan’s nightmare.

— Phillip J. Hubbell, Omaha

An overcast sky above Memorial Stadium shortly before kickoff.

THE WORLD-HERALD

Pet peeve: Husker fandom

(Personal interjection: I took pleasure in this.)

Responses:

In many ways, the city is a wonderful place, but a bit too conservative and narrow-minded. Exhibit A: superiority complex regarding Huskers that is no way grounded in reality.

— Kris Halbersleben, Omaha

Anytime anyone yells ‘GO BIG RED!’ in the middle of any public place such as the grocery store, concerts, etc.

— Anonymous

How much people get into Husker Football. It’s good to support your team, but it is a little over the top.

— Anonymous

The Huskers. I hate the small-town syndrome Omahans have. You see news once in a while of famous people who, at some point in their lives spent a summer or went to school in Omaha, and now make headlines in our local newspaper. The Huskers. People slowing down on the interstate just to see an accident or someone who’s been pulled over.

— Anonymous

Pet peeve: this question

Not everyone was thrilled about my solicitation of negativity.

Responses:

I know your question has good intentions, but right now what I most dislike about Omaha is the idea of asking people to name what they hate most about Omaha. Omaha has enough detractors. It’s a smaller midwestern city which people around the country (typically from larger cities) love to make fun of. You know the jokes so there’s no point repeating them here. … The more I’ve seen of the U.S. and the world, the more I love Omaha. The biggest reason? The people.

— Joel Alperson, 60, Omaha

I don’t hate Omaha. But I do hate it when people from Omaha say, “There’s nothing to do in Omaha!”

That is so not true — if you just look around! This weekend, my husband and I went to a show at Omaha Community Playhouse on Friday night, did a charity bike ride on Saturday night and went to Zorinsky Pool with our granddaughters on Sunday. We are so fortunate in Omaha to have Broadway plays, national music artists, minor-league baseball, all in our city, along with so many movie theaters, festivals of all kinds and charity events, along with so many great restaurants to choose from. There is always something to do, if you do some research!

— Janet L. Klostermann, 57, Omaha

Pet peeve: me

Responses:

Writers who try too hard to find what’s wrong about our wonderful community.

— Anonymous

Micah, you are by far the biggest waste of space in the paper. Between your lists of “what to do this summer,” which includes things like “stream stuff” and garbage like this, I think you have pushed me over the edge.

— Anonymous

Pet peeve: pancakes

One anonymous response to “what do you hate about Omaha” was just “pancakes.” No further context was provided. (Editor’s note: To the person who sent this, please contact me if you’d like to discuss this more.)

* * *

Full-ish list of responses

Here’s the full-ish list of responses we received on Twitter or via our Survey Monkey poll, minus a few offensive or personal comments. There were also limits to how many responses we received in our anonymous polls. So if your comment got cut off, apologies.

Another thing: The responses we received do not reflect the opinion of The World-Herald. Particularly the responses that trash The World-Herald. Thank you.

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Omaha pet peeves

» No White Castle.

» The arrogance about Council Bluffs. CB is a great community — yes there are bad areas just like Omaha, but CB has proven to be progressive and has shown to be an excellent city. (Google thought so.) Most of the haters have not been to CB — and have not seen the progression.

» Finding a parking spot in the Old Market on a Saturday. I actually found a spot once that was within a block of where I wanted to go. I felt like I won the lottery!

» The drivers. They have no idea how to keep a consistent speed on the road. Every time there is some sort of minor inconvenience, they have to come to a complete standstill (i.e. wrecks, a slight drizzling of rain, etc.)

» It is so insanely frustrating that Omaha doesn’t seem to care about the common good. It is selfish and doesn’t want to invest (time, energy, $$) in things that won’t directly benefit it. For example, the streetcar. The studies are clear: Economic development would soar following its construction. Let’s get into the 21st century people!

» Slow drivers in the left lane on the interstates

» Cornhuskers

» Property tax

» The only newspaper in the city has the constant need to nonstop report on one football team instead of covering more interesting or important sports stories.

» Being so close to Iowa that we can smell it if the wind ever blows from the east. Thankfully, it blows from the west most of the time.

» Multiple cars running red lights in the turning lanes.

» The lack of things to do

» Concrete roads … horrible

» Lack of mass transit options that navigate the entire city.

» The condition of the roads and having to pay so much for parking downtown.

» The litter that is casually tossed from neighbors, children and adults. I cannot believe that people just throw out trash from their cars, litter in their yards and streets. Hang on to it and dispose of it properly.

» Potholes …. potholes ….. and the potholes

» Sprawl

» The westbound traffic on Dodge … it seems that they need to expand for the growing community. Oh, and can I also mention the quality of the roads in Omaha.

» Lack of diversity and the redlining of neighborhoods based on ethnicity.

» The weather.

» Infrastructure

» Development. It seems like nothing is seen through to either completion or brought to the point of self-sustainability. There have been way too many big real estate and utility projects that have been stopped or called complete just shy of being actually effective implementations. It works fine if you’re a small town, or a city with stable growth, but Omaha is a vibrant and growing hub. We need to complete what we start, and not pull back at the halfway point.

» How The World-Herald has turned into a liberal mouthpiece

» Drivers who are inattentive due to cellphone use. Not a day goes by that I don’t see a driver sitting still at a green light, or running a red light, due to staring at a cellphone screen. They also drift over the lane lines, and their speed is erratic. I would like to see Nebraska make cellphone use while driving a primary offense with a significant fine.

» Those who self-hate about Omaha and make it obvious that they haven’t ventured outside of the city much. “We have the worst traffic, drivers and potholes.” Seen worse traffic in Chicago, worse drivers in LA. “There’s nothing to do here.” Really? Because I lived in Manhattan, Kansas, for five years. Now that’s nothing to do.

» There’s a distinct lack of adequate transportation. You essentially need a car to get around the city in a reasonable timeframe. I don’t know if streetcars are the answer, but something definitely has to change.

» Drivers.

» Omaha’s lack of public transportation and its urban sprawl

» The lack of city interconnectedness. The fact that people are afraid of the vibrant north Omaha neighborhoods. The fact that you get odd looks if you don’t wear red on gameday.

» The roads. Potholes everywhere. Construction everywhere. And it takes so long to go from the north end of town to the south end of town because there is no large street such as Dodge, only the interstate which is often times out of the way.

» No Portillo’s. No White Castle. No Jack in the Box.

» The interchange if you are getting onto I-80 from West Center Road! Then everyone going south on I-680 exiting to I-L-Q Streets has to cross lanes, and it’s crazy!

» Feeble attempts at news stories like this one.

» Omaha is a very nice place to be as a city, but the “We’re just as a good as Kansas City, even though some people don’t think so” gets kind of old.

» Rubbernecking drivers on the interstate and freeway. They slow traffic down for no reason.

» Creighton.

» Drivers who stop on I-80 interstate to merge left into a slow lane. They now have stopped another lane of traffic for no reason since they’re not in an exit-only lane and interchanges are still 10 miles away.

» One-way streets.

» I hate how some intersections work at night. Specifically between 108th and 114th on Center. The two lights, one on-ramp, one off-ramp, are very dangerous. Luckily, I haven’t been involved in an accident here, but I’ve seen the craziest things happen at night. I strongly believe it’s because of the function of the light system.

» People running yellow lights and tailgating. I mean, you can get everywhere in town within 20 minutes. Do you really need to ride my bumper to get there in 18?

» Lack of nightlife activity: clubbing, late-night restaurant, etc.

» Traffic lights timed such that left-turn pockets do not clear. Many drivers become terribly impatient and become especially aggressive in turning left on yellow and even red. The aggressiveness is contagious, resulting in more accidents. I’ve lived in Omaha for 26 years, and driving in this city is pretty unpleasant much of the time.

» Taxes on those 65 and older. Between the lack of any meaningful sales or property exemptions for seniors, I had no idea that the cheaper housing here would be totally offset by higher taxes. I’d hoped to retire here but now plan on running back to Colorado, where you’re not taxed to death.

» The roads in this town are in horrible shape.

» Red-light runners and an entire state that doesn’t know how to merge properly!

» Taxes! Property, wheel, restaurant, personal property (the last one is not Omaha-specific, but it all adds up).

» Drivers who hate bikes, pedestrians, strollers, you know … anyone not in a car.

» Outrageous taxes (property and otherwise), and poor street conditions that have not improved since we raised the wheel tax in Omaha. As much as I love Nebraska, when I retire in about five to 10 years, I will be looking at lower-taxed areas of the country. I won’t be able to afford living here at that point.

» Weather.

» Creighton.

» Stopping at way too many red lights.

» I hate Omaha’s Dodge-Street-to-Douglas Street “shoo fly” at 30th Street by Turner Park where eastbound traffic must negotiate a tight “S’”curve as it departs Dodge Street for Douglas Street. What were the city planners thinking? It might have been “forward-thinking” when half the downtown workforce rode a bus or streetcar, but the time has come to straighten out that awful mess.

» Rush-hour traffic.

» The traffic is terrible. And the crumbling infrastructure just adds to the misery.

» Road construction

» If you weren’t born here and a part of the “Omaha” network, you can only do and achieve so much.

» Street address setup and street direction.

» The lack of courtesy for other motorists and especially motorcyclists on the road. There are quite a few people in Omaha that drive their cars inconsiderately. They speed constantly, cut people off, tailgate and flip you off because you’re driving/riding like you’re supposed to, etc.

» THE BAD ROADS WE DRIVE ON

» The drivers

» Winters. No mountains. No beach.

» 60th Street between Center and Pacific. It’s been a construction zone for the last 15 years. Or at least it seems that way.

» All the two-lanes that merge into one-lane in west Omaha.

» How crappy OWH is in suggestions like this.

» Limited public open-water swim venues.

» The weather, the slow drivers in the fast lane, the location relative to mountains or beaches

» Omaha World-Herald

» People’s lack of driving knowledge and etiquette. The downward spiral of the public’s respect for one another.

» Taxes.

» This is a dumb idea.

» It’s not a pedestrian-friendly town! It’s horrible if you need to walk anywhere.

» Taxes!

» There are no mountains or beaches. And to the contrary, traffic is nothing compared to other major cities. So when folks here complain about traffic, I want to remind them that it could be way worse. Gain a little perspective.

» People seem to be stuck in the 1940s. Still feels like there are a lot of ultra-conservative, racist, misogynistic people. The old guard seems to think Nebraska should not change to keep up with the times.

» The drivers. Seriously, people driving in Omaha simply don’t know how to drive.

» No Triple A-level hockey.

» Downtown is not the center of the metro. Suburban sprawl west is out of control.

» Unmerited self-importance.

» I hate Huskers fans.

» Property tax and high vehicle tax yet the city always operates in a profit.

» Jayskers.

» Its segregation and lack of transportation to connect all parts of the city.

» Endless construction on major roads.

» Restaurant tax, wheel tax and rude drivers.

» The bus system (or lack thereof), limited access to mental health services for those without resources, and not a lot of outdoor recreational opportunities in the winter.

» Drivers who don’t understand the rules of a four-way stop. They sit and wait for someone to wave to signal who should go first. They each wave, then start into the intersection, then stop, then more hand signals, then finally they get through the intersection.

» That so many historical buildings were torn down.

» Poor interstate access to most of the city.

» My street. It is a disgrace. When I moved here three years ago from out of state, I had no idea there were roads that are not maintained by the city. I live in a “nice” neighborhood near Westside High School and can barely ride a bike on my street due to the potholes and severe disrepair. The existing approach to street maintenance is an embarrassment.

» Lack of good public transportation to jobs in west Omaha. I’ve lived in other cities and caught a train or a bus to work. Here you need a car to get to work if you want a good-paying job. Omaha is a good example of economic discrimination.

» Zero viable mass transit. Zero interest in paying an extra 5 cents in taxes for things like education, infrastructure or social programs. The constant destruction of downtown buildings because people refuse to walk more than 40 feet to a restaurant, bar or entertainment venue. The constant annexation of suburbs when we can’t maintain our current roads and sewage. The horrendous drivers. The decades-long exercise of citizens turning a blind eye to the de facto segregation and generational poverty in north and South Omaha.

» Limited biking options to downtown from the northwest side of the city.

» There is an obvious racial divide that continues between north, South and west Omaha. The ward-like division is still apparent to this day because of redlining policies that were established almost a hundred years ago.

» That streets and avenues both run the same direction. In most cities, one runs north and south, and the other east and west.

» Politics.

» My biggest pet peeve about this city has got to be people’s inability to merge! I don’t know who is teaching driver’s ed in Omaha, but they are doing it all wrong. Folks, it’s really easy. Accelerate to the speed of traffic, time your merge. And merge. Drivers in the merging lane: Do not slam on your breaks to let someone in or you are going to end up getting rear-ended by the person behind you. PLEASE OMAHA … STOP SLOWING DOWN TO MERGE TO GET ON THE INTERSTATE!

» I hate that we don’t have a professional sports team. Gimme some NBA action!

» Property taxes.

» The continual destruction of historical architecture in lieu of repurposing.

» Bad public transportation. No glass recycling pickup. No bike lanes.

» I hate that for Omaha drivers, merging cars are viewed not as part of driving in a busy town, but as rage-inducing line-cutters. I hate that there is no light too red to run in Omaha, and that pedestrians are treated as losers of some Darwinian lottery, instead of as fellow citizens. I love this question.

» Humidity.

» Despite the extra wheel tax, our streets are awful!

» No ocean.

» Potholes

» Lack of bikeways or safe methods of pedestrian travel

» The potholes. The lack of progress on any sort of social issue, like Medicaid expansion, breastfeeding rights for mothers and teen mothers, etc. The homeless problem (and not the people themselves but the lack of resources to address the homeless problem). The trash/recycling debate. The sex-trafficking problem. The racism. The lack of any good cable providers. A lot of these are admittedly first-world problems. And none of this is to say that I hate Omaha. Omaha is full of wonderful, kind, innovative people, and I love being born and raised here, and now raising my own family here. For all the bad, there’s far more good.

» Omaha always has to be dragged kicking and screaming into current times. For example, attitudes towards people of color, LGBTQ+ community, religious minorities and other marginalized groups. Omaha wants to be white upper-middle class, and they put a lot of money into keeping it that way. We lag on infrastructure (the mythical streetcar, very little bus service, sewers that need work, trash, roads), redevelopment, sterile live/work/play attempts like Midtown Crossing or hideously white gentrification projects, only the bare minimum of community engagement.

» That there is a disconnect from midtown/downtown and west Omaha. It’s as if the two sides are against each other.

» Potholes only being fixed temporarily or not at all.

» Nonstop … year-round … incessant … neverending coverage of UNL football.

» Red light-runners.

» Lack of downtown “fast casual” eateries.

» That the city and developers keep tearing down old buildings. It started with Jobbers Canyon and has continued since.

» There is zero cultural innovation here. Lots of micro-neighborhoods that are all basically the same, but nothing developed to the point of being a destination within the city in order to keep people here.

» The lack of diversity, small-town thinking, no major league teams, cliques, not pedestrian-friendly, no mass transit

» It’s too difficult to get anywhere on the bus system.

» The vicious cycle of having the worst drivers with the worst street layout and the worst timing of the lights. Dodge and I-80 don’t hold up to the volume of traffic during rush hours. They’re barely OK during normal parts of the day.

» The stigma against north Omaha.

» Interstate driving in and around Omaha. Omaha-area drivers don’t seem to understand that the left lane is for PASSING, not for strolling along just under the speed limit, clogging up traffic.

» Inconsiderate drivers that won’t throw a break to anyone trying to change lanes or merge.

» The amount of time it takes to get through the intersection at 72nd and Dodge.

» Strip malls as far as the eye can see.

» People.

» Lack of public transportation — we need a streetcar and better bus routes!

» The fact the Nebraskans drive in the left lane! The left lane is the passing lane, not the chill lane. If there is a line of cars behind you, move into the slower lane on the right. Driving in the left passing lane makes it dangerous for the other cars that need to pass, forcing them to pass in the slower lane and causing accidents. This is why we have so many traffic deaths in the state. STAY OUT OF THE LEFT LANE UNLESS YOU ARE PASSING EVERYONE!

» The roads. Duh.

» Potholes.

» It’s narrow-sighted. They tear down historic and cool things to put up new crap.

» I’m originally from the west coast, where the traffic is truly terrible, but everyone gets along with it. I hate that people in Omaha drive like they are still on the farm. The roadways are always busy. Give people some space and slow down!

» I hate how disconnected our city feels. As a downtowner, anything west of 72nd is basically western Nebraska.

» The worst drivers in the world!

» Westward sprawl and the necessity to drive everywhere.

» People who try to beat the red lights and put everyone around them in danger.

» This is probably going to be a common one, but I hate the potholes and horrible streets. I’m fearful of my car disappearing into one of the cracks or holes and I’ll never be heard from again!

» I hate that I miss Omaha so much. After college I wanted nothing more than to leave Omaha and never turn back. Now I find myself dreaming of the opportunity to come home.

» Left-lane slow pokes.

» The seemingly constant wind.

» I dislike that Omaha still remains very segregated by race.

» The College World Series. I love baseball, but man alive, living in the area during the series is awful. Our streets aren’t built to hold that much traffic, and CWS fans tend to love to drink to excess. It’s a bad combo.

» The roadways are not designed for 1 million people in the metropolitan area. It takes forever to go from west Omaha to downtown and vice versa.

» The roads.

» Creighton basketball fans.

» Nobody in this town seems to know how to drive. Not zipper-merging. Slamming on the brakes to get in and expecting everyone else to stop and let you in on the interstate. Slowing down for the curves on I-80 causing backups. Constantly brake-checking even when no one is on your butt. Speeding up to block the person who is going faster than you from getting in front of you. Sitting at stop lights for five minutes. So many things.

» I lived in Omaha for approximately 50 years and, for the most part, thought it was a pretty decent city. However, there were a few things, I wouldn’t say I hate but I certainly disliked with a passion! One … the weather in the winter, of which, no one can do anything about.

» Going out on a date and one of the first questions my Omaha date almost always asks is, “What high school did you attend?” Not everyone grew up in Omaha.

» Paying for parking on Saturdays.

» Drivers who don’t understand that the left lane is for passing. Blinkers work better when activated, and stop signs aren’t optional.

» For how spread out the city is, there is no metro train or subway.

» I hate the bad streets. I licensed my old, old car because I don’t want to damage my newer one. I really hate that people stay in the passing lane and drive like they are leading a Sunday afternoon parade … slowly down the highway.

» The roads

» Summer weather

» Residential segregation.

» Ugly suburban sprawl!

» People running red lights.

» Condition of sidewalks in poor areas (Ames Street for example) are substandard. Sidewalks look great in richer portions of west Omaha.

» West Omaha.

» Winter.

» We do not have a true amusement park.

» Inconsiderate drivers paying attention to their phone as opposed to the road. Not really an Omaha problem, but it’s aggravating and dangerous.

» Potholes.

» The condition of the streets. It’s embarrassing for a first-class city like this to have roads in the condition they are.

» Nebraska Nice is not always Nebraska Necessary. Drivers at intersections who for some entitled reason think they can cede you the right of way with a haughty hand swipe, oblivious to the fact that there are more lanes and more vehicles around, and it’s the law to yield the right of way. Or the guy who holds the door for you at Starbucks. The moment he sees you, like at the end of the parking lot. Then he shimmies his head to hurry you because of his tremendous effort.

» The drivers.

» The slow drivers.

» Needs a facelift around the outskirts of the Old Market. People who drive 5 mph under the speed limit.

» Potholes.

» The ridiculous number of potholes throughout the city. In addition, the large amount of flat-out stupid drivers who run lights, don’t use turn signals or just don’t use common sense in general.

» Micah Mertes and the tone and subject of this “fun” thing.

» Micah.

» The cliquishness. If you are an outsider, for any reason or no reason, you will become very aware.

» The only thing I hate about Omaha is POTHOLES.

» THE ROADS.

» Traffic.

» The World-Herald and their shift from quality journalism to hokie attempts like whatever you call this. Instead of being positive and bringing people together, the attempt to be more divisive to get readers is ridiculous.

» The terrible streets conditions.

» The taxes. This state (and Omaha) are out of control with taxing people.

» I dislike the fact that Omaha has a second-class mass transit system. Would like to see a light rail or streetcar operation.

» Nebraska fans.

» That it is surrounded by the rest of Nebraska.

» Creighton.

» Short yellow lights and the frequent red light runners.

» People driving with cellphones in their faces. And just plain dumb drivers.

» Not enough shopping, no pro team.

» Lack of through-streets, with frontage roads for business access.

» Property taxes are outrageous.

» The Omaha World-Herald.

» This might sound kind of dumb, but I used to live in the desert, so I’m sensitive about things that can start a giant wildfire. I really hate how many people flick their nasty cigarette butts out of their car windows and into the street. It’s disgusting and disrespectful to whoever’s lawn they land in. But I guess smoking is a kind of self-disrespect, so maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised?

» People don’t know how to merge!

» The city is complicated and inefficient without the daily use of a car. No rail and/or trolley system. Limited bike lanes. Lack of safe, accessible outdoor walking/exercise trails. City struggles with dog-friendliness. I moved to Dallas, Texas, two years ago and live downtown in the city center. I have gone days without touching my car. I can safely walk or ride my bike to trails for exercise. I am able to take the rail to excellent shopping venues, bars, concerts, sporting events, restaurants, movies, medical offices, grocery stores, you name it! I wish Omaha offered something similar.

» The winters.

» Bad driving.

» Near Westroads Mall when you come off of Regency Parkway to merge onto Dodge eastbound, there are two lanes that merge into one. The signs are very clear that the left lane ends and cars are to merge into the right lane. However, the left lane always stacks up with cars and people get really aggressive about cutting the right lane cars off. Either people don’t understand how the merge works or they’re just jerks. I think it’s a mix of each.

» I hate this question. There is no point except to increase negativity and complaining.

» Writers who try too hard to find what’s wrong about our wonderful community.

» The raging October to April wind that forces you to question your motives for ever leaving the house.

» Traffic when there’s a minimum sign of rain.

» Commute downtown.

» A bit conservative.

» People are very rude here and think they live in this thriving city. Omaha tries to be this big, progressive city, but it’s small and backward.

» Winter weather gets old after a while. Being stuck inside can be boring. See me in Florida for retirement.

» Omaha drivers.

» Having a newspaper whose writer would choose to draw out the negative about Omaha instead of being positive and asking what you love most about Omaha.

» The crime.

» Constant construction. City is racially segregated. OPS schools need improvement. Lack of reliable and widely available public transportation. Most of all, I really hate how they put the new baseball field right next to the downtown arena. Parking is horrendous.

» Sometimes boring.

» Lack of medical cannabis and a relative dearth of outdoor opportunities for activities like hiking.

» Our public transportation system is really non-existent. I feel the lack of a good system further segregated our already segregated city.

» Transportation, too many cars. I’d like to see streetcars and a light rail system.

» Roads.

» Omaha has the rudest and most dangerous drivers … they like to tailgate and run red lights.

» There needs to be a singular source for unemployed people and employers. Whether it’s through the chamber or an alternative source, employers and unemployed people should be able to connect easier. Having a database of recently displaced employees, career-transitioning employees, new-to-the-workforce employees, etc., would be a benefit for all.

» Inner-city life, inner-city pressure. The concrete world is starting to get ya. The city is alive, the city is expanding. Living in the city can be demanding. (Editor’s note: This respondent just put in the full lyrics for the Flight of the Conchords song “Inner City Pressure.”)

» Idiot drivers. Too many people running red lights, tailgating, weaving between traffic lanes, driving slow in the left lane, changing lanes without looking to make sure no one is in the space they are trying to move into, cutting people off and generally acting like they’re special and do not have to follow the rules of the road. There are way too many of them in Omaha for its population.

» For me it’s a tie between Omaha lacking any major landforms (large body of water to swim in, or anything besides the plains), or the fact that the city still isn’t relevant enough for a majority of the population outside of the Midwest to know that we’re not all farmers.

» The traffic seems to get worse every year and how about the texters who enjoy the road, but don’t pay attention to it.

» Everyone is from here.

» The drivers. Those who tailgate, don’t let vehicles merge (when a driver can clearly slow down or get over for a merging vehicle), failing to yield, running yellow/red lights, speeding through neighborhoods, an overall lack of courtesy. I could go on and on.

» Dodge Street … 72nd to 90th … why is it so slow?!

» West Omaha, winters

» Look, having lived on both coasts and places in between the past 30 years, since I moved to Omaha six years ago, I have never seen worse drivers. I’ve seen more horrific accidents, people running red lights, not stopping at stop signs, etc., in the short amount of time I’ve lived here than in the entire time I’ve lived elsewhere.

» Distance from cool geographical features (mountains, canyons, oceans, etc.)

» That Omaha thinks it’s superior to the rest of the state.

» Potholes and left lane-hangers on the Dodge Expressway!

» Parking (availability and affordability) downtown and in Benson/Blackstone.

» Cass County drivers that drive in the left lane of Highway 75 and block traffic or cause people to pass them on the right.

» Drivers! Everyone here is either a speed demon in their lifted pickups and Mustangs or drives 10 under and clogs up the passing lane.

» People not knowing how to drive.

» Property taxes, housing, traffic.

» The interesting stuff is in Midtown, Benson, Dundee and the Old Market. There’s not as much actual good stuff out in my part of the city. Think strip malls.

» The weather is brutal with limited outdoor activities.

» Inattentive drivers.

» I don’t like when people from Omaha commit themselves to believe only Omaha-based companies are the best for what services they provide and to always go with the “local” firm.

» Road conditions.

» Drivers. They merge 10 miles before a turn like the turn is in 10 ft.

» The fact that every time you meet someone also from Omaha, the first question is always, “What high school did you go to?”

» The wheel tax is really out of line for a city this size.

» I hate the auto-centric culture of Omaha. Everyone complains about parking. The greatest fear is having to walk more than half a block to anything. The one-way streets downtown are ridiculously wide and make being a pedestrian a terrible experience. Yielding to pedestrians is the law but not the practice here.

» It doesn’t seem safe anymore.

» The traffic.

» Bandwagon haters. Such as anti-fireworks people.

» Drivers rarely use turn signals.

» Small-mindedness. Gossips.

» Lack of free entertainment

» We only have two seasons: winter and construction.

» People turning left on Dodge.

» I hate that so many Omahans passionately believe that driving is the only way to get around. They complain about being stuck in traffic. They complain about the condition of the roads. They complain about not having anywhere to park. They complain about how other people drive. Then stop driving! Summer is a wonderful time to enjoy Omaha — festive events, drinks on the patio, playing outside with friends and family — and you’re stuck in your car. Break out of your routine.

» Driving. The roads are almost always under construction. It’s also so much slower trying to get places during peak driving times. Even 10 years ago, the interstate and streets seemed quicker. I more or less stopped using the interstate because of aggressive drivers. I was recently rear-ended. The dude blamed me and chewed me out in front of my son while acting super-aggressive. I got the feeling he wanted me to throw a punch so he could go MMA on me.

» Its location. Sandwiched between Nebraska and Iowa isn’t a good place to be. Omaha is a nice town, but a lack of scenery within five hours is rough. It could be worse though. Places like western Kansas or the Texas panhandle don’t even have hills or very many trees.

» The maintenance of streets and parks in west Omaha. How can we pay so much in taxes and have this high of property valuations in the western part of the city and have this bad of streets?

» I hate the self-regard people have for themselves as humble, hard-working Nebraskans.

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And there’s more!

Click here to see the responses to my original Twitter inquiry.

Source: https://www.omaha.com/living/hundreds-of-omahans-tell-us-what-they-don-t-like/article_d79ff662-e5c4-5762-b366-fea421556019.html

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