God, what to say about it all? (The political situation, I mean.) It's cliché now to say that I never expected to live through a fascist coup of the United States of America, and yet truthfully I think that's true. And at the same time... My notes say I finished a first draft of this in 2013, and at the time even though it felt so vital to me to tell I thought it was maybe rather too dark, and wrestled with myself if I could give it some spin without compromising its integrity. 2013 was before the Supreme Court decision on gay marriage even, taking it nationwide–can you imagine? It feels like a lifetime ago already. I had to look it up to remind myself when it passed. 2015. And I thought, here I am being hopelessly cynical, hopelessly, well, hopeless, in telling this story about how bad it was to be closeted, how it hothoused you and contorted you into this beautiful lie. Nobody needs to hear about that any more. But I couldn't give it up. I couldn't trunk it, and there was no story there without the ending so I definitely couldn't discard that entirely. But I could barely come up with some hope to drag out of it, and so I did.
And now I can't tell if that was naive of me or if it was naive of the world to believe that things had to get better, or if we've been doomed to this forever, and now our moment in the sun has passed.
What good can possibly come of this?