Conventional writing advice states that an author should, generally, step on the throats of his protagonists. Occasionally , you shift your weight and allow the poor bastards to catch a little air, but mostly, you keep them down until they’re almost dead … and then you stomp on them some more.
One could argue, then, that this campaign season has been an extended size 13 to the windpipe. It abated, for the briefest of moments, as the election drew near and it looked like Clinton would win.
And then the boot came down for a crushing blow, and what the hell do we do now?
So: God exists, and he’s an evil fiction writer.
Hopefully he’s set us up for some sort of triumphant third act.
But I kind of doubt it.