Someday My Turkey Will Fly completed
The plot portrays a homeless alcoholic protagonist in his quest for respectability. Eventually, this slovenly wanderer’s journey leads him to a respectable woman (victim of a misogynistic husband) who helps him get off the street. Ultimately, he invents a device—a useful adjunctive idea for various kinds of transportation occupations, which has in actuality never been fabricated before—that enriches him and provides a means to help his former street buddies. He creates the Self-Esteem Institute (the name of my planned sequel novel).
It also is my social commentary about and some proposed solutions for lack of self-esteem, alcoholism, homelessness (I’ve been there) and misogyny—all interspersed as part of this action story set in the middle 1980s in D.C. and Gainesville, Florida. In order for my views, and those of other recoverees from themselves I have interacted with to be seriously considered, I felt the novel had to keep the reader’s interest as an action adventure. Hence, the plot’s conflicts are interspersed with examples of good and bad morality, intrinsic political comments and proposed realistic solutions for surviving from and correcting such a dysfunctional lifestyle.
Its main premise is that God has a point system for admittance to Eternity as I label Heaven. While the protagonist is a cab driver who saves a group of people from a plane crash next to the Potomac River and is eventually burned to death doing so, he shortly finds himself in Eternity. His heroics upped his positive point total above the negative score he had before this deed. He is greeted by Zoloff, his counselor, who will show him the ropes of his eternal abode. Since this book needed an antagonist to provide more than exposition, I chose Satan for that role, thus creating the obvious continuing conflict between good and evil.
The other theme of my work is that computers run Eternity. The devil has his own smaller Internet network, which is able to harass God’s by the same impediments we endure here—digital worms,
viruses, Trojan horses, denial of service by overloading Eternity’s Internet and interrupting the Archivator—a super computer that has recorded every thing that has ever happened in the history of
Brains (hard drives) on all 50 planets inhabited by beings with them, receive virtual messages from God’s system to behave or invent helpful devices for their survival on their respective planets. The prototypes for all these boons to their living comfortably on each populated orb have been operating in Eternity for eons.
Satan’s evil virtual e-mail suggestions try to offset God’s urgings of doing good and helping their fellow being. Since all entities (including humans) with brains have free will, they must choose what action to execute and which camp’s directives to obey.
When I get writer’s block on revising and editing, The Toys of God, I often work on outlines and ideas for Diocese of the Damned—a treatise on my critical observations of a fictitious religious TV network. The protagonist has a legitimate TV ministry, but he has to contend with the malignant and evil personalities of what I call—monetary religiosity. His neighbors (co-protagonists) of the cloth—fake religious healers, screamers of God’s damnation (if you don’t fill the offering bucket) and outright righteous frauds are all in it for the money or fame. The plot consists of his efforts to expose these false prophets and the perils he faces in doing so.
Although I claim this book in progress as my autobiography, of necessity, because I can only remember certain incidents in my life, it cannot be complete or precise. While many surface in my memory from time to time in these latter years, it’s impossible for me to string all the episodes of my life together sequentially. Various pieces of the whole truth of all what happened in it are cerebrally lost—sometimes in a non-penetrable cloud of youthful (16 to 32) alcoholism and thankfully erased memories of unpleasant periods of my early counterproductive existence. Often, as I suspect, the normal digression and degradation of an elderly mind or the propensity for suffering fleeting periods of partial insanity has also had a profound influence.
All you will read when I complete it is written to the best of my ability to be truthful. Occasionally, I have slightly embellished an incident so I could connect the accurate dots.
I’ll try to record what my convoluted brain discerned to be the appropriate way for it to direct my actions during each period of my existence. I have penned this saga as a loosely connected series of short stories in the chronological order I believe they occurred.
I care not if the reader judges me to be a loose cannon or on the border of being evil, because it was somewhat true at one time. I’m not proud of the emotional devastation I caused many persons during my early years. But today, I am not the person I was then. Often, the miscues or wrongful actions and attitudes during my first forty-three years were a product of immature ignorance, selfish aspirations, personal aggrandizement and a mental capacity that was a psychological hangover from my days of wine and roses. I hope you’ll understand the context of my dysfunctional periods and realize I could not have recorded them as even partially truthful, if I were the same man today.