{"id":758,"date":"2016-01-19T15:39:45","date_gmt":"2016-01-19T15:39:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.waylandmiddleschool.org\/orange_black\/?p=758"},"modified":"2016-01-19T15:39:45","modified_gmt":"2016-01-19T15:39:45","slug":"author-of-the-week-by-julia-callini-julie-lavoie","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.waylandmiddleschool.org\/orange_black\/author-of-the-week-by-julia-callini-julie-lavoie\/","title":{"rendered":"Author of the Week by Julia Callini: Julie LaVoie"},"content":{"rendered":"
\r\n
\r\n \r\n <\/i>\r\n <\/a>\r\n <\/span>\r\n<\/div><\/div>

Ms. LaVoie lives in Saratoga Springs, NY, with her fiance and three sons. If she had to describe herself it would be a \u201csecretly funny introvert\u201d. She\u00b4s a foodie; she loves cooking, reading, watching cooking show, and binge watching Netflix with her fiance. She will often break out in song or dance, which is what inspires her YA novels.
\n*\t*\t*
\nTake a peek at her novel The Glass Ceiling,
\nfrom: https:\/\/juliemlavoie.wordpress.com\/books\/<\/p>\n

Sixteen-year-old Heart has known nothing except the bone-breaking work in the tunnels beneath the cruel eye of the Matriarch. But when strange visions and a hidden map hint that there\u2019s more to life than she\u2019s been led to believe \u2013 boys being one of them \u2013 she embarks on a journey to gain her freedom and learns her true worth in the process.<\/p>\n

*\t*\t*
\nExcerpt from The Glass Ceiling:<\/p>\n

Just as Heart touched the doorknob, muffled voices sounded from the other side. Crap. She looked around her. The closest object was a trash can. She lowered herself behind it, wrinkling her nose at the putrid smell of dirty diapers. The door swung open and the Matriarch stepped out. A messy braid laid over one shoulder.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe need to locate her. Check the bathroom. Check the tunnels. She couldn\u2019t have gotten far.\u201d
\nThe woman stomped past the trash can without noticing Heart. In one bright flash, all the fluorescents came on. Chills spread through Heart like black oil. They were going to find her.
\nThe dorm mother put one of the older girls in charge and rushed toward the east tunnels. Heart stayed in her kneeling position, frozen to her spot. Think, Heart, think. Going inside her dorm was out of the question. Her only choice was to go west. Her heart sank. The west tunnels were in the opposite direction of the Box. She couldn\u2019t leave 176 behind.<\/p>\n

Before she could change her mind, she abandoned her hiding spot and sprinted toward the common area. Luckily, everyone was already in the tunnels and she made it through without being detected.<\/p>\n

She neared the Box and moaned. She\u2019d forgotten about the padlock. How was she going to get 176 out? She banged her fist against the thick metal. \u201c176, you in there?\u201d
\nThere was no response. Of course, 176 couldn\u2019t talk. She placed her ear against the door, listening for movement. Three thumps came from within.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe door is locked and I can\u2019t open it.\u201d Heart banged once more. \u201cI have to go, but I\u2019ll come back for you, okay?\u201d She hesitated. Promises alone wouldn\u2019t help 176 survive the Box. \u201cJust concentrate on the sliver of light. Pretend it\u2019s an angel, wrapping you with her wings. Protecting you. That\u2019s what I do.\u201d<\/p>\n

A ball formed in Heart\u2019s throat. \u201cStay strong. I know you can do it.\u201d<\/p>\n

A thump sounded. Heart sniffled and wiped at her nose. There was nothing more she could say.
\nWith a final glance over her shoulder, she rushed toward the west tunnels, staying close to the walls. She made a note of the small alcoves she passed. If needed, she could easily squeeze into one.<\/p>\n

Every couple of minutes, she stopped and listened for voices. Yells and the beating of feet into dirt bounced off the cavern walls. She couldn\u2019t tell if they were ten feet away or a hundred. Adrenaline forced Heart forward and she quickened her pace. If the Matriarch caught her, losing her tongue would be the best scenario she could hope for.
\nThe walls grew narrower and the path more treacherous. She\u2019d never been this far into the tunnels. Looming rock formations snagged at her hair. What if she\u2019d picked the wrong turn? What if it was a dead end?<\/p>\n

She turned a corner and her stomach flipped. A wrought iron gate marked the exit, a six inch thick steel bar holding it in place. Beyond the gate, a pinkish purple glow filled the tunnel. Freedom? Heart grasped the cold metal bar. C\u2019mon, c\u2019mon, c\u2019mon! She tugged until her veins threatened to pop out of her forehead.<\/p>\n

It didn\u2019t budge. She whipped her head back and forth, searching for something hard. She grabbed a rock and slammed it into the bar. A pinging sound echoed off the walls. She didn\u2019t care that the commotion would attract attention. There was no other escape. No bright arrows pointing the way. Nothing left to do but hit that bar with every bit of strength she could muster.
\nThe footfalls came quicker now. A whistle blew. Heart hit the bar faster. Harder. The sounds were closing in. Every hair on her head could sense her pursuers. And yet she continued. Bang. Bang. Bang.<\/p>\n

The bar moved slightly and tears of hope stung her eyes. Please!<\/p>\n

Her body jolted as someone grasped her arm. The rock, and her only chance of escape, slipped from her fingertips.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Ms. LaVoie lives in Saratoga Springs, NY, with her fiance and three sons. If she had to describe herself it would be a \u201csecretly funny introvert\u201d. She\u00b4s a foodie; she loves cooking, reading, watching cooking show, and binge watching Netflix with her fiance. She will often break out in song or dance, which is what […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6,"featured_media":764,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-758","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-all-posts"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.waylandmiddleschool.org\/orange_black\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/758","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.waylandmiddleschool.org\/orange_black\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.waylandmiddleschool.org\/orange_black\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.waylandmiddleschool.org\/orange_black\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/6"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.waylandmiddleschool.org\/orange_black\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=758"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.waylandmiddleschool.org\/orange_black\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/758\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":760,"href":"https:\/\/www.waylandmiddleschool.org\/orange_black\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/758\/revisions\/760"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.waylandmiddleschool.org\/orange_black\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/764"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.waylandmiddleschool.org\/orange_black\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=758"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.waylandmiddleschool.org\/orange_black\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=758"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.waylandmiddleschool.org\/orange_black\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=758"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}