Check out the first excerpt from my upcoming book Birds of a Feather, a satire that takes place in Anderson Township.
A war is raging in Anderson Township—as in many other American suburbs—between two conflicting tribes with an age-old rivalry: the misfits and the #blessed. Despite sharing the same streets, schools, and affordable fried chicken options, these groups exist in different worlds, their lives marked by fundamentally opposing values and lifestyles. On the surface, their value systems, which are at odds, seem complex, guided by opposing philosophies and even religious principles. But in reality, the friction between them is rooted in the same popularity contests found in their high schools and the ever-powerful human desire to fit in.
If a misfit is someone who doesn’t fit in, either by choice or circumstance, then the #blessed are those who do—sometimes remarkably so—as if life were a Norman Rockwell puzzle and they were the satisfying snap of the final piece.
The #blessed are the generational remnants of heritage America—a leaner, meaner, and whiter America, most recently exemplified in the 1980s. It was a time when you hardly dared to leave your house unless you were straight, Christian, patriotic, wildly assertive, and at least marginally attractive.
It was a different America than we know today—a more dog-eat-dog, Top Gun America—where survival of the fittest still ruled and the shift to survival of the kindest was still decades away. People then were more raw, more unpredictable, more ambitious, and had yet to learn what we know today is the undeniable, scientific truth that the meaning of life—our sole reason for existing—is to be kind…or to love…or whatever the latest hashtag demands. Think of all those silly philosophers who wasted their entire lives trying to unlock the secrets to the universe when all they really had to do was just chill and be nice. Sometimes it’s hard to even think back at those dark days when love had to be earned and didn’t adhere so easily to t-shirts and bumper stickers.
Back then, the Chads ruled the roost—before anyone knew what a Chad was. They were the wealthy, the athletic, the beautiful and they were completely unapologetic. They owned the businesses, the land, and they took what they wanted, gathering in large, beautiful families that congregated in parishes, which in turn shaped entire towns. It was a time of great taking and gathering of resources where head starts were ignored and the plunder was fully supported—encouraged even—by the national culture at the time. The reward, when all was said and done, was the American Dream realized—a big house, beautiful children, health, safety, and a flow of wealth that would nourish the family tree for generations. And those who earned it were #blessed.
And then there were the unblessed, of course…or those who feel they didn’t measure up to Top Gun America, for whatever reason. Maybe it was after a look in the mirror, at their bank account, their marriage, or the cracks in their families. It could have been their race, religion, mental health, or sexual preference—anything that prevented them from keeping up with the F-14s of Top Gun America, breaking the sound barrier all around them. These were the misfits, feeling left behind as the #blessed took off at Mach 1 without them—winning state championships, getting laid, fitting in. Despite misfit canon, it wasn’t really that the #blessed looked down on the misfits; they simply never looked back at them.
It was envy, but the misfits are only human, after all, and perfectly susceptible to human flaw. Still, it’s not hard to see how resentment could fester. Choking on F-14 fumes and shoved into the locker of American life, the misfits vowed revenge. But what could they do, this awkward lot of invisible people? The odds were against them. All they could do was hope for a savior, a messiah—someone who would emerge to strike vengeance on the #blessed and pave the way for misfits to inherit the Earth.
And then he arrived.
To read the second excerpt, click here.
