Something always has to happen. In the story. It has to be real and convincing, like the sun rising or a gust of wind that picks up down the street and drags dead stiff leaves and animates plastic liquor store bags.
There has to be a moral. A place that you’re headed to to realize that where you’ve gone has gone all wrong. Or all right. But no one wants to know about what you did to be right. That’s boring and stupid.
No. Things have to happen. Terrible enough to turn the heads, turn the page. In a world where we most assuredly have no idea what will happen next we must demand this of fiction, lest the whole fucking thing go straight to hell.