Wim Baren, $0.99
Fantasy, 2015

Rafe is an unpublished author who feels that his writing isn’t going anywhere, until he stumbles upon a woman one day – Mel, who tells him that she is a Muse. No, no, this doesn’t lead to raunchy sex or anything – sorry, folks – rather, seeing her regularly is enough to inspire him to write magnificent things that get sold and optioned for movies. As you can guess, though, he soon falls for Mel. Alas, she says that they aren’t meant to be.

Mind you, I think the hero’s name is Rafe. He started out calling himself Rolf, but then the story and the characters abruptly address him as Rafe a few pages in, so I don’t know. I’ll stick to Rafe. Rolf sounds like something I’d call a bulldog.

Now, this one could have been a sweet, if predictable, romantic tale. It could be a cheeky, meta story of an author venting about how hard it is to succeed in his chosen career. It may be a great story.

I won’t know.

This is because I am distracted to the point of annoyance by the author’s love of the Barbara Cartland school of narrative.

“How’s your writing stuff going, buddy??… Published?… Sold any?…” he enthusiastically plowed on with his old-school-tie interest. Then he turned the subject to himself, as if Rafe had just asked.

“Me?… Been doing some lecturing and suchlike… People don’t know anything about history these days!!!… Still, that’s what keeps me in dough!… Seems they can’t get enough of it!… ‘Specially the myths, the legends… They eat those up!… Probably the desire for escapism!… Seen how successful these movies of ancient history stories are??!… There’s your proof!…”

The whole thing… is… like this…!…!!!

I’m just going to channel Alaska Thunderfuck here: bye-ieee-ieee-ieee-ieee…