January 2016 was not a good time. If you think it was a good time (or even a great time), you need to have a timeout and a juice box to think about your life choices. The world, already teetering on a precipice, had gotten that last nudge it didn’t need to slide down into the terrible unknown.
I made phone calls. I marched. I volunteered. None of it helped me deal with the gut-churningly awful knowledge that everything was out of control and that a whole lot of awful people were not only profiting off the chaos but doing what they could to increase it. Also: I was powerless to stop it.
So, what did I do? I wrote. I wrote about a dissident whose only solace in the hours before her execution were to imagine the many, many horrible deaths of the autocrat who had ruined her nation. It was, as R.D. Sulluvan, author of “Hotties and Bazingas and the Murder Cult Murders,” said, “A catharsis.”
“The Many Ends of the Regent” may not be the catharsis you need right now, but it’s the one I have to offer. And it’s only a buck.