Amazon / Kindle Unlimited / Audiobook / Goodreads
MY REVIEW
Michael B Chikondi has a distinct writing style that I find intriguing. It is not in your face, but subtle, eerie and creepy, such as in Creeping Fate. A Victorian gothic romance is an accurate description. It is 1847 London. Cecilia Everett’s family is gone and she is a wealthy woman. It is time to be wed, but there are no men in sight. I felt I knew where this was going pretty quickly, but Spencer Black and John Oliver kept the mystery alive. I wasn’t sure who was the good guy and who was the bad guy, but sometimes…well, I know what I want to say, but I feel that will give it away, so mum’s the word. You’ll have to read Creeping Fate by Michael B Chikondi to find out for yourself what becomes of Cecilia.
“:…choose a man who loves you more than you love him. Such a man won’t let you down.”
GOODREADS BLURB
Cecilia Everett, still grieving the loss of her family, and struggling under the weight of societal obligations, knows she must start to build a life for herself. Under the guidance of her indomitable Aunt Euphemia, she turns her attention towards the prospect of marriage. Its London, 1847, and even an heiress like Cecilia cant escape the pressure to find a husband. Two candidates soon capture her attention; the respectable, but difficult, Spencer Black, and the notorious playboy, John Oliver. As she begins to fear her mind is unraveling, might it be, her financial situation is more alluring than she is?
- Genre: Fiction, Gothic, Romance, Victorian
- 109 pages, Paperback
- Published June 4, 2023
ABOUT MICHAEL B CHIKONDI (from Amazon)
Michael B. Chikondi is not to be trusted, but the creature agrees to a meeting in its burrow. We enter with trepidation, given that the thing has no doorbell. As we crawl through the narrow tunnel, gored out by its own teeth, by the texture, we hear what can only be described as a hacking cough.
“Can we approach?” we call.
“No soliciting.” the voice returns.
“You sent for us; you told us to ask you questions. You know, for promotional reasons.”
“Ask.” the dread voice responds.
“Alright, who are you?” we try.
“A creature of mist and shadow, half-mad, I used to go out, I did, and know those…humans. Not now, not since…the pen.”
“You found a pen? That’s why you became a writer?” we ask, now terrified, trying to gauge how fast we can leave the burrow. The photographer has already left us, chewing off his own watch, caught on a tree root.
“Yes, but now…I hunger…”
We are not proud; we turn tail and flee, before it can leave its den. We aren’t paid enough to get a full bio. We can only pray someone buys its books, so that the thing never comes out on its own.
Ed. What the hell is this? This isn’t what we requested. Just some nonsense and an artist’s rendition of what one of my people saw before he contracted rabies? Eh, whatever. Plenty more writers in the sea.
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MY MICHAEL B CHIKONDI REVIEWS
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