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Excerpt from my novel

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Sup folks. Need some feedback on one of the pieces I'm doing. Critiques appreciated.


I am a second hand farmer. I reap what someone else has sown.

I’m packing my own chute for the first time today. I’ve made several jumps before but I’ve never packed my own chute. Then I realized that was like going out to hunt grizzly with a buck knife but asking your wife which flannel matched  these hunting boots. This is now. Mine. You’ve never had a more intense few moments of your life as acute as packing your own parachute.  You’re not listening to our ipod or thinking about what you want to have for dinner. That tiff you had with your signifigant other is the furthest thing from your mind right now because if you forget a buckle or snag a line you become a smear of burnt sienna on the earth and a good story on the nightly news. I’m breathing.

 I’m breathing and I’m sweating. My hands are methodical and skilled.


 Steady. My mind could keep swiss time right now. I’m my own surgeon. 


I strap my soul to my back and climb aboard the winged crisis. I hear steps. The only way I know not to be frozen by fear is to know what the hell your doing. A firefighter runs into a burning building with intent. He's good at this, and he could still die.  I'm giving Determinism an ultimatum.

Even the air is different here. It’s moving all around you, but you are still. Unwavering. There is no time up here, just a series of events that leads to a decision; a choice that only you can make. The engines hum a buddhist drone. The next thing doesn’t happen if you don’t take that step. You make nothing happen.