Prologue

INTERVIEW with Kathleen Irene Paterka, author of “Secrets of the Royal Wedding Chapel”

November 13, 2015 1 Comment

About the author: KATHLEEN IRENE PATERKA is an Amazon bestselling author of women’s fiction novels. Her popular James Bay series includes Fatty Patty, Home Fires, Lotto Lucy, and For I Have Sinned. Her latest work, The Other Wife, is set in Chicago. Her newest release, Secrets of the Royal Wedding Chapel, was published by Booktrope Publishing in October 2015. Kathleen lives in Northern Michigan with her husband Steve, where she is busy working on her next James Bay novel.

**Contact Kathleen: Website Facebook Pinterest Twitter Subscribe to Kathleen’s newsletter

INTERVIEW

Describe yourself in five sentences: My husband would say I’m his best friend (true), romantic (I try my best!), and passionate about the things (and people) I love. My daughter would say that I am a perfectionist (true), creative (true), and overprotective (Hey! She’s 34 years old, but I’m her mother. Mothers are allowed to be overprotective!). My own mother (who died in March 2015) would have said that I work too hard (still debating that one), that I’m too hard on myself (I tend to agree at times), and that I’m kind, generous, and good-hearted (Mom, stop! People will think you’re prejudiced). My friends would say I tend to run full-tilt (true), I can be counted on to keep my word (also true), and that I’m loyal to a fault (and this is a problem?). As for what I think about myself? The jury’s still out on that one!

What is your writing/editing/publishing process like? I’m a very slow writer. It takes me a good year to write the rough draft of a book. My novels tend to run 80,000 – 100,000 words. There are days I consider myself lucky to even get one page written. Once the rough draft is finished, I start in on a round of edits (my least favorite part of the creative process). I hate chopping away at my words; I consider them ‘my babies’. Once the edits are done, I work with a professional editor/proofreader. The story is then re-edited, and then submitted to either my publisher or readied for indie-pub.

When did you know you were a writer? When I was 8 yrs old, I read my first Trixie Belden book (a series about a teenage girl detective). After devouring the novel, I made a decision right then and there that when I would grew up, I would be an author and write more Trixie Belden books.

Salty or sweet? I love a dash of salt on foods, and a bit of sweetness in the books I read.

Every author must have (a): Patience, perseverance, and nerves forged of steel.

Do you have any writing rituals? I’m up early every morning, on purpose. The house is quiet, and there are no distractions to pull me away from the steady stream of dialogue as the characters start chatting in my head. The world outside may still be sleeping, but my mind is buzzing. I try to get it all down on paper before too many interruptions pull me out of the magical daydream my imagination has created.

Tell us what a typical day is like for you? Since I have a day job (I’m the resident staff writer at a Castle! How romantic!), it’s necessary for me to allocate my time very carefully. My alarm goes off at 5 every morning. By 6:30, I’m dressed, have had breakfast, and am at my computer where I work for two hours on my latest writing project. I shut down at 8:30 AM, and then I’m off to work at the Castle. After dinner with my husband, I’m back at the computer answering emails and chatting on social media. Weekends, I pretty much follow the same scenario, except my alarm doesn’t go off at 5 AM… plus, I allow four hours for writing, rather than two. But regardless of whether I’m working my day job or not, mornings are reserved for my novels. That’s when my creative juices are fresh and flowing.

Hard/paperbacks or eBooks? Both! I’m a big fan of our public library, which has plenty of hard cover and paperback books to enjoy. Libraries = free books! What’s not to love about free books? But eBooks are great too, and I especially love my Kindle. There’s no waiting for someone to return a library book you want to read. Just download it on your Kindle. One flick of a finger, one-stop shopping! But hard/paperback or eBook, the most important thing I look for is a great story that keeps my interest.

Where do you see yourself in five years? Retired from my ‘day job’ as staff writer at a Castle, and cozily tucked away at my home computer working on my novels.

If you could meet another author, who would it be? Stephen King. I’m a huge fan of his books. His novel 11/22/63 about the assassination of President John F. Kennedy is a literary masterpiece. King’s non-fiction work On Writing is the one craft book about writing that I keep close at hand.

What do you want readers to take away from your books? Take heart and have courage. There are plenty of experts out there handing out advice on how to deal with things. You can have all the head knowledge in the world, but it doesn’t begin to touch what’s inside your heart. My novels are about real people trying to find their way through issues or events that have shattered their lives. How do you learn to pick up the pieces? I believe that it’s ultimately about listening to what’s in your heart, rather than your head. That’s what I hope readers gain from reading my books.

What are you working on right now? My latest book takes readers back to the small resort town of James Bay (the setting for my first four novels: Fatty Patty, Home Fires, Lotto Lucy, and For I Have Sinned. The book features Chuck’s Tavern and Grill, a local eatery from the first four books. Chuck owns the Tavern, and his adult daughter Katie is the manager. Chapter 1 starts out with a simmering stew of a story that quickly escalates into a rolling boil when a mysterious young woman shows up at the Tavern and takes a seat at the bar. Who’s the stranger? What’s she doing in James Bay? Why is she so fascinated with Chuck? Katie’s radar is on high alert. She’s very protective of her dad, and she doesn’t appreciate strangers trying to worm their way into his affections. There’s a touch of mystery, a dash of romance, a pinch of suspense, and plenty of twists and turns… blend together, and hopefully it will turn into a delicious read (especially since each chapter features a favorite recipe from Chuck’s menu!)

**Blurb: Immersed in the regal world of weddings and romance, Lily Lavender grew up believing in brides, grooms and happily-ever-afters. A direct descendant of the British royals, it seemed her destiny and royal birthright to someday assume a position as wedding coordinator in their family-owned wedding chapel business. But when her mother Mimi’s third marriage eventually fails, Lily’s dreams of her own happily-ever-after quickly fade. She’s no longer interested in a life of assisting brides walk down the aisle into a life of disillusionment and possible divorce. Lily turns her back on The Royal Wedding Chapel and leaves Las Vegas to fashion a life of her own. Years later, Lily—now a single mom—discovers her teenage daughter has run off to Las Vegas, lured by Mimi to help run the chapel. Determined to save her daughter from the broken dreams of Sin City and the nonsensical world of which family fairy tales are made, Lily returns to Las Vegas. But nothing prepares Lily for the royal drama which awaits her… or the sins and secrets she stumbles across that threaten to close the chapel and ruin her family forever.

PROLOGUE

There’s a reason they call this town Sin City, my mother told me long ago when I questioned her about something I’d heard at school that day. But when I asked about the secrets part, Mimi had refused to explain. “You’re much too young to hear about such things, Lily,” she said and left it at that.

I wandered away, a confused eight-year-old, my head filled with even more questions. How could Las Vegas be full of sin and secrets when it was filled with so much sunshine? Growing up in this town, in the ornate, spacious villa behind Mimi’s Royal Wedding Chapel near the center of the Strip, I saw the glitz and glamour. It shimmered and sparkled like the beautiful brides in their wedding gowns gracing the aisles of the chapel. Peeking around the pews, I saw their glowing faces, heard the vows exchanged, witnessed the beginnings of so many happily-ever-afters.

And then I grew up.

It took a while—around the time Mimi’s third marriage, the one to Jack’s father, collapsed—for me to discover the truth. Las Vegas is full of sin and secrets. Most of them stay in Vegas, left behind to be cleaned up by maids and blackjack dealers who sweep away the debris. Others get carried home like guilty luggage, busting up marriages and businesses and causing bankruptcy.

I’m forty years old, and that naïve little girl I used to be disappeared long ago. She learned that happily ever after is merely an illusion and that sins and secrets can weigh just as heavy on your heart as our family’s heirloom tiara can weigh on your head. The dazzling crown, in the special display case behind bulletproof glass in the lobby of the Royal Wedding Chapel, gleams like the fortune it is worth. But the antique combs pinch and the diamond diadem is a burden. How my grandmother managed to keep the jewel-encrusted crown on her head when presented to the Queen is the stuff of which family legends are made. With my grandfather descended from British nobility and in distant line for the throne, the tiara is a priceless treasure, proof of our family’s heritage.

As far as I’m concerned, though, that tiara is exactly where it belongs: safely behind glass, viewed from a distance. It glitters and sparkles, but the pain isn’t worth it. Dare to wear it, as I did once, and—just like the secrets hidden in Sin City—the pain and guilt will tear you down. I’m lucky I managed to yank it off in time.

And I refuse to allow that tiara to ruin my daughter’s life the way it almost ruined mine.

BOOK FEATURE: “Burning the Short White Coat”

June 25, 2015 Leave a Comment

“Burning the Short White Coat” by Eve Shvidler M.D.

Blurb: In “Burning the Short White Coat: A Story of Becoming a Woman Doctor,” author Dr. Eve Shvidler narrates the humor and heartbreak in love and medicine through young medical student Elle Gallagher. A medical chick-lit novel, “Burning the Short White Coat” exposes the personal battles that single women must overcome in balancing a demanding profession and the desire to find a trusting and loving relationship.

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Prologue

The shrill of my pager jolted me from a dreamless sleep, and I fumbled for my eyeglasses. I focused on the tiny glowing screen of my nemesis leash and dialed the dreaded numbers to Labor and Delivery.

“This is Doctor Gallagher. I was paged,” I mumbled into the receiver.

“We have a decel in room five,” the nurse replied. “Heartbeat has been in the sixties for-”

“Get the terbutaline ready and open up the OR for a crash!” I said and slammed down the phone.

I bounced out of bed, pulled back my messy hair, slipped into my black dansko’s and grabbed my long white coat. My heart raced and thumped in my chest as I ran down the hall, through the double doors to the maternity ward.

I heard my patient moaning as I entered the delivery room. Her pregnant belly swayed back and forth as she squirmed in the hospital bed. The baby’s heart rate had not recovered, and I nervously slipped on a sterile glove.

“Did you push the terb?” I asked the nurse while examining my patient.

“Yes, Doctor, about thirty seconds ago,” she replied.

I felt the baby’s head well applied to the pelvis, but my patient’s cervix was only six centimeters dilated. I rubbed the baby’s head, hoping to stimulate him.

Thirty more seconds passed, and the heart rate continued to beat in the 60s. Normal heart rate for a fetus is more than 120 per minute. I sensed my patient’s helplessness. I sensed my own helplessness. I knew I had to get this kid out fast.

“What’s the problem?” my patient asked.

“Your baby’s heart rate has been down for four minutes. This is a sign of distress. At this time I would recommend performing an emergency cesarean section-”

“I don’t need to hear anymore. Just do it,” my patient said. She started to sob. I took a deep breath to calm myself.

“Crash!” I screamed.  “Crash!” screamed the nurse.  Four more nurses entered the room, hustling to grab IV lines, disconnect the fetal monitor, draw blood from my patient and roll her out of the room. The oversized scrub tech quickly waddled to the sinks and prepped her hands. The anesthesiologist emerged from his on-call room, eyes drooping with a mess of hair like Alfalfa from the Little Rascals.

“Call the attending,” I ordered the desk clerk.

My patient had broken down into hysterics from all the commotion, her bed rolled to the side of the operating room table. I shuffled to slip on my booties, blue bouffant and facemask and joined her in the OR.

“Take deep breaths. Everything is going to be okay,” I said, rubbing her shoulder and looking into her wet and puffy eyes. I glanced over at the anesthesiologist and nodded as he injected the milky fluid into her IV line. My patient dozed off to sleep.

“Just splash the betadine and start draping her,” I ordered the nurses, and I slipped out the door to the scrub sink. A twenty-something girl with long brown hair and a thin frame, wearing a short white coat approached me as I started to vigorously scrub my hands.

“Doctor Gallagher?” she inquired.  I nodded my head, lathering my hands with orange-brown suds. “I’m Tracy, the third-year medical student on service. I just started-”

“Well, what are you waiting for, Tracy?” I asked. She had a startled look on her face and stood motionless for a moment.

“Start scrubbing. We don’t have much time,” I said.

She ran to the closet to hang her short white coat and joined me at the scrub station.

My attending arrived from her on-call room. She looked refreshed, her chocolate skin shiny and clean, scrubs unwrinkled and neatly tucked, her black hair perfectly fixed. I was always amazed by how composed she was.

“What’s the story, Gallagher?” she asked, grabbing an iodine sponge and firing up the scrub sink.

I explained the emergent situation to her. The anesthesiologist informed us we could start as I rinsed off the soap from my hands. Tracy fumbled around with the scrub sponge, trying to follow my attending’s lead.

“Get started,” my attending ordered.

I slipped on my gloves and gown and approached the left side of the operating table.

“Knife,” I ordered. The scrub tech handed me the scalpel, and I made a ten-centimeter incision just above the pubic bone. I took the incision down to the fascia, a tough connective tissue layer covering the muscles of the abdomen, and knicked the fascia in the midline. My attending and Tracy entered the room and joined me on the other side of the operating table.

“Quickly!” my attending cried. We cut across the fascia, separated the rectus muscles, poked through the peritoneum and incised the lower uterus. I placed my hand in the uterine incision and pulled out the baby’s head. My attending put pressure on my patient’s upper abdomen as I pulled the rest of the body out. The baby appeared floppy, breathless, dusky colored and silent.

Shit! Dammit! Breathe, dammit!!!

Expletives continued to run through my mind as I cut the cord and handed the little one off to the pediatricians. We listened for a faint cry, some sign of life, while we delivered the placenta and started to stitch up her uterus.

Breathe! Please! Breathe!

My fear was communicated to my attending through my eyes. The most agonizing moments in obstetrics is waiting for that cry. The bag mask continued to make a swishing sound as the pediatricians mumbled about exam findings. For a split second, I felt like hunching over, giving up and walking out of the room. My moment of weakness passed quickly, and I focused my attention on the open belly in front of my face.

“Please hand Tracy, the medical student, a Richardson retractor,” I said to the scrub tech. She handed Tracy the retractor, and I helped her properly place the instrument on the superior aspect of the incision. I then gave her the suction device and told her to keep the area dry. Her hands shook as she searched for fluid to suction.

We heard the cries from the new life as we finished closing the uterus. They were faint and soft cranky cries, but cries nonetheless. My heart felt as though it had sunk into my ankles and the entire operating room sighed with relief.

Thank God! Thank God! Thank God!

My heart rate slowed to an average rhythm as I removed my bloody gloves, gown and booties. Another life saved. We had won the race with Mother Nature this time.

“Nice work, Gallagher,” my attending said, strolling back to her sleep room. She had not formed a single drop of sweat over the potential catastrophe. I dreamed of one day practicing my trade with such finesse and confidence, but I still had a long way to go.

“That was amazing,” Tracy said to me, approaching the nurse’s station after we finished in the operating room. She appeared flustered and astonished, like a deer in headlights, still processing the late-night events. She reminded me of myself when I was a medical student — shy, clueless, awkward and anxious.

“In three years, you’ll be standing in my shoes,” I commented.

“I can’t believe how far I have gone and how much farther I have to go,” she said.

I thought about Tracy’s statement and reminisced about how much I had grown and changed in the process of my training. I remembered that first day of medical school, when I eagerly left my small town life nestled in sunny New Mexico to follow my dreams, only to find myself in a lab full of dead bodies. My life changed in an instant, and my journey began.

**Click HERE to buy “Burning the Short White Coat now!

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About Eve Shvidler M.D.: Dr. Eve Shvidler wrote “Burning the Short White Coat” while still single and in medical school. She is now a practicing physician specializing in obstetrics and gynecology. Dr. Shvidler is married, and they have three children.

**Contact Dr. Shvidler: Publicist email Author Twitter Author website Author Facebook fan page

Somewhere Down In Texas — Prologue

January 19, 2013 14 Comments

This is a prologue to my third book, “Somewhere Down In Texas.” The following is a first draft and hasn’t been edited, so please ignore any mistakes.

*****

My graduation dinner with my granny ended early so I decided to surprise my boyfriend, Clay, at his house. His parents were out of town and we were planning on spending the night in each other’s arms. We had made love only a few times, but we had never just spent the night with each other.

His Chevrolet truck was in the driveway and I smiled, remembering all the fun and memorable times we shared in that old beat up thing. After checking myself in the mirror and adding some lip gloss, I got out of my car, quietly closing the door on my new BMW convertible and walked up to the porch. When I reached the knob, I slowly twisted it, opening the Dennis’ home. They never locked their doors. Hell, nobody did, in Amarillo, Texas.

When I didn’t see him watching the blaring television in the family room, I tiptoed into the kitchen. There was no sight of him. He must be in the bedroom, waiting for me, I thought, as I felt heat rush to my cheeks. I walked down the dark hallway that was covered with pictures of Clay and his younger sister, Caroline. His door was cracked, so I pushed it open. What I saw was horrifying! My high school sweetheart and my worst enemy, Lila, were in bed together. The door banged against the wall, startling them, as they both jumped and faced me. To my surprise, Clay just sat there, as Lila covered herself up with Clay’s sheets — the same light green sheets that I had been tangled up in after a passionate lovemaking session with “Amarillo’s Sexiest Cowboy,” quoting the magazine cover of The Amarillo Man.

“Addie!” Clay said, finally jumping out of bed and putting on his jeans. “This isn’t what it looks like,” he said as he stumbled his way across the room towards me.

My eyes were filled with tears and I could barely speak. “What…what is this?” I looked at him and then at Lila, who looked pleased with herself for causing trouble. I just stood there and glared at them, not knowing what to do or say.

When Clay tried to reach for me and try to explain, I wouldn’t let him. “Don’t you touch me,” I said firmly. “It’s over,” and walked out of his house, as he chased behind me.

“She means nothing to me, love. It’s you I want.” He pulled my arm and turned me around to face him. “It was a mistake. Baby, please forgive me.” His eyes squinted together and the fear of losing me covered his face. “I need you, Adalina, I love you. Please, don’t leave me.” His voice sounded desperate.

I ignored his puppy dog look, the one I never could resist. “I hope Lila was worth it,” I said in a cold tone. I pressed the key remote to unlock my door, got in my car and sped away. I didn’t bother to look in my rearview mirror, or to the life that with him that we had planned.

Prologue

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