Look, a challenge!

picture of a tigerMy writer buddy Jen Sosniak has tagged me in one of those blog challenge thingies. The idea is to find the first instance of the word ‘look’ in your current WIP and post the surrounding paragraphs.

So here it is, the opening scene from Black Tiger.


“Lord, I feel like a coat hanger,” Sally muttered as the camera and lens case edged a little further down on her shoulder. Nothing to do about it; she had her hands full with her carry-on luggage and the drag-behind suitcase. She followed the other passengers out of Customs to the exit, the sign above the door written in Hindi and English, and walked through the automatic doors into the arrival hall. She looked past the eager locals obviously waiting for loved ones and searched the little signs held almost furtively by people meeting unknowns. That was her; unknown, alone in India. Her heart beat too fast. Nerves, that was all.

The words ‘Tengai Tiger Park’ leapt out at her from a sign held by a fellow in a neat khaki uniform but the employment agency had told her she’d be met by somebody and this fellow looked like he was collecting a tour party. She’d come back to him if there wasn’t any other option. She glanced further along, letting her eye rest only on signs in English. Ah. ‘Dr Sally Carter’ hand-printed on cardboard. Wow. The fellow holding the sign was a bit of all right. He topped her five feet eight by a good six inches, wide shoulders and short, black hair. Not a kid, either. He looked about thirty five; a little older than her. Settle, Sally. He’s a man. You’re over them, remember?

“I’m Sally Carter.” She dragged her luggage over to the man and thrust out a hand. She might as well start as she intended to continue, a new doctor, sure, but a friendly one.

The man smiled, took her hand while he shoved the folded sign in the back of his jeans. “I’m delighted to meet you, Doctor Carter. I’m Ash.” He had a lovely deep voice with barely a hint of that sing-song Indian accent.

Her fingers tingled at his touch, like a surge of current that had her heart fluttering. “Sally.”

“Sally,” he repeated. He glanced down at his hand as if he’d felt something, too, then reached around her for the handle of the suitcase and took the carry-on from her. “Let me take these from you. If you’ll come this way, it’s a long drive.”

She admired a tight ass in faded jeans as she pulled the camera and the long lens back up on her shoulder. She could look, couldn’t she? Besides, he’d be a driver or something, probably married with children. She hurried to catch up to him, her footfalls echoing on the tiles.


It’s a paranormal romance set in India, Melbourne and Hong Kong. Keep you eyes peeled for the big announcement…

And my victims to carry on the tags are:

Nya Rawlyns
Sessha Batto
Mona Karel
Toby Neal
Mandy Ward


About Greta van der Rol

I'm an author of fast-paced, action-adventure novels, mainly space opera - although I've been known to write in other genres. I live not far from the coast in Queensland, Australia and enjoy photography and cooking when I'm not bent over the computer. I have a degree in history and a background in building information systems, both of which go a long way toward helping me in my writing endeavours.

Posted on 14 September 2012, in Black Tiger, On writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 6 Comments.

  1. So do I comment here or on my blog or??? Haven’t done many of these. And, hmmm, the WIP brings it up pretty fast:

    At first glance there wasn’t much change to the town itself. Maybe a new stop light or two but still on street slanted parking. What had been quaint or charming when she had first arrived as a confused young orphan was now just tired. A closer LOOK showed peeling paint, potholed streets and too many shops with blank windows. Willow Springs was a city on the downhill slide. If ever a town needed an economic boost, she was driving down that street.

  2. grumble. Okay, cool. I needed something different on the blog and this gives me another excuse not to do story words

  1. Pingback: Having a bit of a game… a literary challenge if you will… «

  2. Pingback: When Writers Succumb to Chain Letters | Mona Karel Author

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