WANTED: Critique Partner for Sherry

Hey everyone!  I have a "wanted ad" today for a YA writer looking for a critique partner. Please read her details and excerpt below and consider swapping some pages to see if you're compatible.  Here's what she's looking for:

I am a previously published author, trying to find an agent for my latest novel. I am looking for a critique partner to exchange a chapter with per week. I work with published authors and struggling writers who share a love of the written word. I cannot, however work with first drafts right now. Sorry!

I have a completed, 90,000 word YA paranormal/ghost story that I'm working on and would prefer a partner who writes in the YA genre. Please contact me if you're interested in working together. My email: paranormal_writer @ yahoo.com

Thanks!! And thanks to Casey for letting put up this ad. ;-)

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First page of working title, DARK ANGEL (A Girl's Guide to the Supernatural)

For as long as I can remember, I’ve heard whispers in the shadows. Dark twisting shapes that chilled my blood. During the day I was safe, felt the heat of the sun on my skin chasing away the chill. This morning the gloom did little to abate my fears or warm my bare flesh.

I was tempted to jump back into bed and pull the covers over my head. Instead, I went over to the closet to pick out my clothes. I threw a dress on the bed, and then rummaged in the closet again.

The rush at the edge of my skin made me shiver.

Out of the corner of my eye, a maelstrom of shadows glided over the walls, murmuring in an ancient language. Ah, hell.

I glanced over my shoulder—and froze.

An amorphous darkness crept along the wall, different from the others. This shadow slid closer to where I stood, vague in shape, yet growing in size. It shifted, altered, trickled into blood and limbs and then...

Oh god, the thing was almost touching me. I blinked, but it didn’t go away.

I let out a yelp and stumbled back, bumping into a chair. The temperature dropped, my breath made white puffs in the air.

My eyes darted to the window. I figured that if I could get the shade up, the sunlight would swallow the darkness. I inched forward, yet kept a keen eye on the otherworldly beings. Within the shadows were shapes, hands, arms…faces. Obsidian fingers reached out, trying to grab my ankles. I knew these creatures fed off my fear, doled out like so much bitter candy. Black, evil things with darkling eyes, probing for weakness, a way to steal my soul. The biggest shadow swelled to a bulky mass and blocked my path. The other shadows backed away, helpless in the dim light—more silhouette than solid—and the large one rose higher, it’s head bobbing like a serpent near the ceiling. He watched me, with red eyes, and inside my heart, something awakened. Something dark as the creature before me. My mouth tightened.

Move. Now. My legs refused to budge. Terror, stark and vivid, squeezed my throat, so I was unable to make a sound. My fists clenched and unclenched at my sides.

This was just a nightmare, only a bad dream. And nothing more.

But it wasn’t, because I was wide awake.

A knock on my door made me jump. “Serenity?” my mother cried. “Are you all right?”

I knew I should go to the door, but I couldn’t let her in. Couldn’t let her see those indiscernible shadows that I couldn’t tell anyone about. She wouldn’t understand. Parents told children monsters weren’t real. But they were.

“I’m sorry.” I tried to steady my voice. “A nightmare.”

“Is that all?”

“Yeah.”

“You shrieked.”

“Sorry. I’m fine.”

The shadows shifted and moaned.

“All right…hurry up. We’re going to be late.”

Silence descended.

The dismal March weather mingled with the quiet made my bedroom seem oddly dim and barren, hollow just like me. I tried to ground myself as I glanced around the messy room, at the mound of clothes in the corner, stuffed animals littering the shelves, and the pile of books stacked under the windowsill. The walls were painted a dusty-rose and covered with posters of my favorite bands, and one of the hottie actor Zac Efron, and the film, High School Musical. The iron frame bed had a pink and lime green comforter trimmed in white trim that matched the curtains. The urban IKEA dresser and desk were light-colored pine. It looked like a normal teenage girl’s room except for the silhouettes moving stealthily over the crème colored carpet. They covered everything in their path like a dense, opaque blob.

I swallowed. Hard. My heart beat so fast it wanted to leap from my chest.

The hulking mass before me pulsated with death.

Well, hell. I knew I couldn’t just stand there doing nothing.