Here's my excerpt, from Chapter 2 of my debut:
As I head toward the bathroom, a flash of blue by the front door catches my eye. Dad’s terry robe. And Dad, straightening frames. He frowns, probably deciding whether to swap some photos. When he gets to the second row, he turns and motions to me. Come.
My hands shake so badly I almost drop my makeup case. He’s still here. Right here. Maybe the phone call, the hospital, the surgeries weren’t real. Just a very vivid nightmare. My feet carry the rest of me, like a sleepwalker, toward him.
When I get there, he’s gone. Before me is the magic photo: the one split second in my short life that I look incredible. It’s not a coiffed, polished glamour shot. No, I’m sweaty and my clothes are rumpled. But I’m floating four feet in the air, my gawky tallness curved like a curlicue C around the high jump bar. My leading arm is like a ballerina’s, legs steely and lean, face full of happy peace. A swan moment.
I tag the following friends:
Faith Elizabeth Hough
I was surprised that "look" didn't appear more frequently in my story, which has as a theme "good vision" or seeing things correctly, rather than filtered through prejudices and pre-jududgments.
How much "look" ing happens in your work? Is vision the primary sense, or are your stories more strongly auditory and sound-centered?