What do I see. . . a lot. It brings me joy and it brings me pain.
I see a blond woman with gold bracelets and flawless makeup pushing her four year old child in a stroller that is plush and new. There are Gerber juice boxes in the mesh pouch and she is on the phone with her friend, laughing as she pushes her child down Madison Avenue. I turn away in disgust.
I see a dark haired woman with stained clothes holding her four year old child's hand on a dangerous street in Queens. The child is eating half of a peanut butter sandwich and does not flinch when a city bus roars by, brakes screeching. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth and I can feel my eyes turning glassy.
What do you see? Do you see that the child in Queens has on well-scuffed sneakers from many walks to the caged in park? I do. I see the mother is closest to the curb too, keeping herself between trouble and her child. The child is tan and in scruffy, worn out clothes that have seen many days at the park, many days of running and playing, many washes in the kitchen sink. They are stained but clean. The unstained clothes are being saved for special occasions. Today's clothes are meant to get dirty. The sneakers have climbed many ladders to go down many slides. The shoelaces are tied tightly and double-knotted. The peanut butter sandwich is eaten happily. A good, nutritious snack that does more than just fill a void. The child feels the warmth and security of his mother's hand and he looks up at her frequently, chattering and smiling and talking about what he will do at the park. The dark haired woman smiles softly at the boy and nods, agreeing to lift him up to the monkey bars and push him on the swing. The boy is looking forward to pushing the button on the water fountain in the park. It's one of his favorite things.
As the child in Queens squeals with delight and runs to the slide, the child being rolled down Madison Avenue remains silent. There is no one to talk to. No one to laugh with. He looks at the tips of his Lebron sneakers and taps them together. The sneakers are not scuffed. None of his sneakers have ever been scuffed. The brass buttons on his denim bibs are shiny in the sun. Craning his head forward, he carefully sips from his juice box so he doesn't spill any on his clothes. He is four years old but wearing a Pull Up diaper. His mother doesn't like him going to the bathroom in public places because who knows what type of people use those facilities? The blond woman with the gold bracelets continues to chatter with the invisible person on the phone. She told him they were going shopping for his new sneakers. They will be a different color.
I see all of this as I walk to the subway station on Madison Avenue. Wordlessly, I enter the station and scan my ticket. It is lunch time. And I prefer to spend my time in a happy place. I board the train to Queens.
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
Friday, April 3, 2015
Shameless Flaunting of My Amazon Reviews. . . Yeah, That's Right.
5/5 stars:
The depth of the characters in this book really hooked me. You feel as you are inside their minds as you take this dark journey down the feeding path. Plot twists and vivid scenes make this author a force to be reckoned with. I can't wait for the next book.
5/5 stars:
By Lawrence Orleans
The depth of the characters in this book really hooked me. You feel as you are inside their minds as you take this dark journey down the feeding path. Plot twists and vivid scenes make this author a force to be reckoned with. I can't wait for the next book.
5/5 stars:
By Lawrence Orleans
Format:Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase
Could not put this book down. The characters are completely captivating, detailed and authentic; the book is addictive. I can hardly wait for the next book!!!!
I would recommend this book to anyone interested in psychological thrillers!!
Thank you for writing this spell binding artistic and entertaining book!!
I would recommend this book to anyone interested in psychological thrillers!!
Thank you for writing this spell binding artistic and entertaining book!!
5/5 stars:
By Markis Cook
Format:Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase
After reading this book, I was rendered absolutely speechless. The characters are so realistically created and literarily rendered that they are both endearing and, at times, frustrating. These characters make mistakes, do human things, and leave an overall impression on the reader, which many authors these days fail to accomplish.
I am very good at figuring out plots. I was unable to do so with this work and for that I honestly give you an applause. You threw me for a loop and kept me guessing and kept me enthralled with the happenings your creation as well as keeping me glued to the pages as I turned them for hours at a time.
Definitely being listed as one of my absolute favorites of all times. I can not wait for the next book in the series.
Thank you for gracing us with this piece of art.
Markis Cook
I am very good at figuring out plots. I was unable to do so with this work and for that I honestly give you an applause. You threw me for a loop and kept me guessing and kept me enthralled with the happenings your creation as well as keeping me glued to the pages as I turned them for hours at a time.
Definitely being listed as one of my absolute favorites of all times. I can not wait for the next book in the series.
Thank you for gracing us with this piece of art.
Markis Cook
5/5 stars:
Format:Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase
This book reminds me of some of the best work of Dean Koontz and some of Stephen King. Just as in the show, "Chicago," it opens with a show-stopper that really makes you want to see what's coming, and then doesn't let you down until the end.
I ended up forming a relationship with the main characters, I cared what happened to them, even the "villian."
I will say the book is gruesome in some places, and it's the discovery of the reasons behind the gruesomness that makes the outline of the book so intriguing.
There are some times when I was confused as to what character was speaking or thinking, but I attribute that to creating a sense of mystery at the beginning of the book.
It is obvious to me that Ms. Mattila has a bright future in front of her. I cannot wait to see where her dark, vivid imagination takes her (and her readers) next.
I ended up forming a relationship with the main characters, I cared what happened to them, even the "villian."
I will say the book is gruesome in some places, and it's the discovery of the reasons behind the gruesomness that makes the outline of the book so intriguing.
There are some times when I was confused as to what character was speaking or thinking, but I attribute that to creating a sense of mystery at the beginning of the book.
It is obvious to me that Ms. Mattila has a bright future in front of her. I cannot wait to see where her dark, vivid imagination takes her (and her readers) next.
5/5 stars:
By Claudia Pfeiffer
Format:Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase
At first I thought it might be too horrific for me, but I couldn't put this book down. The best psychological thriller I've ever read.
One of My Book Reviews (so happy!)
[Following is the official OnlineBookClub.org review of "The Feeding Path" by Michelle Ridlon.]
4 out of 4 stars
Review by ananya92
Share This Review
The Feeding Path by Michelle Ridlon is a novel that can be placed in the psychological thriller genre. It is the first book in the Valenti series and follows the story of an FBI agent, Joe Valenti, as he tries to stop a serial killer from claiming his trophy victim.
FBI agents Joe and Nate have solved serial killer cases in the past, but this case is different. All the victims in this case look almost identical to his longtime girlfriend and forensic psychologist, Vicky O’Connell. What freaks him out more, is that all of them are tortured and made to re-enact events from Vicky’ past. It is clear to Joe, Vicky and Nate, that Vicky’s life is in danger and she is the trophy victim of this killer. Joe and Nate do everything in their power to keep Vicky safe but this killer is not deterred so easily. Will Vicky save herself using her psychology skills or will Joe and Nate fail to stop the murderer in time?
The book opens with the scene where the killer is torturing his victim, and the torture which is described in vivid detail is enough to keep the reader hooked to the book. The author has carefully placed the plot twists at crucial junctures of the book, making the book incredibly fast paced. The author takes the reader inside the mind of all the characters in the book and exposes the reader to emotions felt by each of the characters. The author has sketched the character of the murderer in a manner that will make the reader hate him and sympathize with him at the same time.
The author has also provided us with interesting side characters like Fatimah who has a psychological disorder, which the author describes in great detail. The different perspectives from which the book is written add to the suspense element of the book. There are some places where the author paints the thought process of the characters with such vivid detail, that the illusions seem real.
Vicky’s character is easily the most interesting character in the book. Her dilemmas, her nightmares, her superb psychology skills and her guilt are dealt superbly by the author in the book. There are different shades of her character which are displayed throughout the book. The sheer determination, with which she is able to pull herself out of the most dangerous situations, makes the book really exciting to read.
I rate this book 4 out of 4 stars for being an exciting, addictive, psychological thriller to read.
******
The Feeding Path
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon | Hassle-Free Sample
4 out of 4 stars
Review by ananya92
Share This Review
FBI agents Joe and Nate have solved serial killer cases in the past, but this case is different. All the victims in this case look almost identical to his longtime girlfriend and forensic psychologist, Vicky O’Connell. What freaks him out more, is that all of them are tortured and made to re-enact events from Vicky’ past. It is clear to Joe, Vicky and Nate, that Vicky’s life is in danger and she is the trophy victim of this killer. Joe and Nate do everything in their power to keep Vicky safe but this killer is not deterred so easily. Will Vicky save herself using her psychology skills or will Joe and Nate fail to stop the murderer in time?
The book opens with the scene where the killer is torturing his victim, and the torture which is described in vivid detail is enough to keep the reader hooked to the book. The author has carefully placed the plot twists at crucial junctures of the book, making the book incredibly fast paced. The author takes the reader inside the mind of all the characters in the book and exposes the reader to emotions felt by each of the characters. The author has sketched the character of the murderer in a manner that will make the reader hate him and sympathize with him at the same time.
The author has also provided us with interesting side characters like Fatimah who has a psychological disorder, which the author describes in great detail. The different perspectives from which the book is written add to the suspense element of the book. There are some places where the author paints the thought process of the characters with such vivid detail, that the illusions seem real.
Vicky’s character is easily the most interesting character in the book. Her dilemmas, her nightmares, her superb psychology skills and her guilt are dealt superbly by the author in the book. There are different shades of her character which are displayed throughout the book. The sheer determination, with which she is able to pull herself out of the most dangerous situations, makes the book really exciting to read.
I rate this book 4 out of 4 stars for being an exciting, addictive, psychological thriller to read.
******
The Feeding Path
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon | Hassle-Free Sample
Friday, March 27, 2015
A Typical Series of Computer Interactions on My Google+ Posts
POST ONE There! Got everything switched over to my maiden
name, RIDLON. Linkedin, facebook, twitter, my blog, MY BOOK!!!
POST TWO Hooooly SHIT!! I’ve been fucking around with
changing everything to my maiden name and now my blog is gone. Gone-gone!!
WTF!! How the shit do I get it back????? DAMN!
POST THREE I have no blog address anymore. Mother-
POST FOUR Really? Really? This fucking computer is BEGGING to
be lit afire. Stupid blog!
POST FIVE Ok. Google+ is nice. They are good and true. They
have changed all that I have asked. HOO-raaah. Not so with blogger. Blogger is
vile and evil and doesn’t listen. At all. My book cover WAS CHANGED last
night!! I looked on Amazon and there it was—all changes had taken effect. Now
it just reverted. It just fucking reverted. On its own. GodDAMN I hate
computers. . .
POST SIX Ok. Ok. I have re-published my book TWICE in the
last week. TWICE it took the changes and then reverted back. Got ahold of the
Blogspot minions and they gave the sage advice of trying to republish it.
Really? Yes, I think I will. Re-publishing my book will be a new hobby. I’ll
drink coffee, smoke cigarettes, and spend my days re-publishing my book. Every morning.
Into eternity. THEN every night the blogger minions can sneak in and change it
back for no apparent reason. Sounds like FUN. I’m gonna go get my coffee and
smokes right this minute.
POST SEVEN My blog address refuses to change, too. URL.
Whatever the fuck. It lies to me. It says yes. “Yes, michelle, we heard you. We
are changing you over right this second. No, wait. Maybe not. Try it again. I’ll
do it this time for sure. PLEEEASE Charlie Brown?? Kick that football again—THIS
time it’ll go.” My hatred for disobedient computers is goddamn near
pathological. Now the blogger mechanics can kiss my ass too. CHANGE MY URL
ADDRESS, GODDAMNIT! Stupid blog.
POST EIGHT Breathe. . .breathe. . .easy in. . .breathe. . .easy
out. . .breathe. Nope. Still wanna make this computer into a fucking toaster.
All the breathing will just fan the flames and make the fire bigger. Good. Son
of a bitch. Stupid blogger.
POST NINE Now it’s going to take the Amazon mechanics at
Kindle a couple years to get back to me on why the changes won’t stick. If they
tell me to re-publish and I get their address? Yeah. I’m going to fucking prison.
POST TEN Going to prison for sure. Some 12 year old from the customer service just
emailed me saying he’ll “look into it” and get back to me on TUESDAY!!! (March
31) WHAT????? I’m being featured in the april/may edition of a women’s magazine
to promote my book. THE NAMES DON’T MATCH, GODDAMNIT!! I’ll be RIDLON in the
magazine and MATTILA in the bookstore. And I started writing these hacks to
help me at the beginning of the week. I’m going to stroke right the fuck out. I
know it.
POST ELEVEN Technically, I think Bailey’s is a coffee creamer. I’m
pretty sure of it. I’m going to get some goddamn cream. Stupid blogger.
Whose Daughter Am I?
Whose daughter was I?
Coming from divorced parents, I was obsessed with this question. It was a tough
question. Did I want to be more like Dad or more like Mom? It was not possible
to have two life styles that were further apart. The bottom line was, “Who had it right?”
My father was an old school, strict and tough, highly self-disciplined man. There were no hugs or wiping away of childhood tears for his children. A conservative Republican, he was interested in politics, newspapers, and work. He pushed my brother and I to do more, improve what was mediocre, and never—never—talk back or root for the underdog. Pick a winner. Intelligent and responsible, he had little tolerance for opinions that differed from his own. In short: My dad was the straight man who demanded obedience and respect from his children. His unspoken mantra was FOLLOW THE RULES AND YOU’LL BE RESPONSIBLE AND SUCCESSFUL.
Such was not the case with my liberal mother. Time had little meaning for her and if she had an opportunity for adventure, all bets were off; she would miss work and go on the adventure. She spent years away from my brother and me while she hitchhiked around the United States seeking new and different cultures, jobs, people, and points of view. A flower child of extraordinary intelligence, she had no interest in discipline or parenting. She wanted to be my friend. Peculiar, unpredictable, and unbelievably well read; cultural norms irritated her. She hid my Christmas presents and told me that Santa was sick and the Easter Bunny had to pick up the slack. She also had two active warrants for her arrest when she died. Her unspoken mantra was BREAK THE RULES AND BE FREE, YOU’LL BE HAPPIER.
I had to decide which parent was right and which was wrong. Both claimed that their parenting techniques were superior—one abysmally old school and the other radically new age.
I mucked around for years, first being irresponsible but creative, open-minded, and up for any adventure that rolled my way. I was all over the place; I wouldn’t pay my bills, missed work, and more than once I stuck my thumb out to get to where I needed to be. I discovered that I hate instability.
It was time to try the other style on for size.
I went to college and earned a bachelor’s degree, worked seven days a week, paid my bills, and had money in savings. I also stopped writing poetry and short stories, stopped going out dancing, stopped singing with the radio, and passed up every adventure that threatened to flag me down. I was one hundred percent responsible but had forgotten how to laugh.
Feeling despondent and confused for years, the enlightenment finally came all at once. Why do I have to choose one lifestyle over another—why can’t I be responsible and peculiar at the same time?
Whoa. Hold up . . . this could work!
Fifteen years later, I am a published novelist, paint in acrylics, go on adventures, and look for washed up treasure on the New Jersey shoreline. I am also self-disciplined, carry mace, never miss an appointment, have set meal times, and pay all of my bills.
Whose daughter am I? I am a blended kaleidoscope of herbs and spices from both of my parents. I am “me” and I am happy.
My father was an old school, strict and tough, highly self-disciplined man. There were no hugs or wiping away of childhood tears for his children. A conservative Republican, he was interested in politics, newspapers, and work. He pushed my brother and I to do more, improve what was mediocre, and never—never—talk back or root for the underdog. Pick a winner. Intelligent and responsible, he had little tolerance for opinions that differed from his own. In short: My dad was the straight man who demanded obedience and respect from his children. His unspoken mantra was FOLLOW THE RULES AND YOU’LL BE RESPONSIBLE AND SUCCESSFUL.
Such was not the case with my liberal mother. Time had little meaning for her and if she had an opportunity for adventure, all bets were off; she would miss work and go on the adventure. She spent years away from my brother and me while she hitchhiked around the United States seeking new and different cultures, jobs, people, and points of view. A flower child of extraordinary intelligence, she had no interest in discipline or parenting. She wanted to be my friend. Peculiar, unpredictable, and unbelievably well read; cultural norms irritated her. She hid my Christmas presents and told me that Santa was sick and the Easter Bunny had to pick up the slack. She also had two active warrants for her arrest when she died. Her unspoken mantra was BREAK THE RULES AND BE FREE, YOU’LL BE HAPPIER.
I had to decide which parent was right and which was wrong. Both claimed that their parenting techniques were superior—one abysmally old school and the other radically new age.
I mucked around for years, first being irresponsible but creative, open-minded, and up for any adventure that rolled my way. I was all over the place; I wouldn’t pay my bills, missed work, and more than once I stuck my thumb out to get to where I needed to be. I discovered that I hate instability.
It was time to try the other style on for size.
I went to college and earned a bachelor’s degree, worked seven days a week, paid my bills, and had money in savings. I also stopped writing poetry and short stories, stopped going out dancing, stopped singing with the radio, and passed up every adventure that threatened to flag me down. I was one hundred percent responsible but had forgotten how to laugh.
Feeling despondent and confused for years, the enlightenment finally came all at once. Why do I have to choose one lifestyle over another—why can’t I be responsible and peculiar at the same time?
Whoa. Hold up . . . this could work!
Fifteen years later, I am a published novelist, paint in acrylics, go on adventures, and look for washed up treasure on the New Jersey shoreline. I am also self-disciplined, carry mace, never miss an appointment, have set meal times, and pay all of my bills.
Whose daughter am I? I am a blended kaleidoscope of herbs and spices from both of my parents. I am “me” and I am happy.
Michelle Ridlon
Author of “The Feeding Path”
Author of “The Feeding Path”
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