A recently-widowed woman, who was in love with her much older husband, meets her husband’s relative, a notorious rake who is currently embroiled in a paternity lawsuit and is basically co-habitating with his married mistress.

The hero and heroine–the widow and the rake–don’t kiss until the book is way more than three-quarters done, don’t have sex until the last fragment of the book, and he receives a certain type of attention from his mistress more than halfway through the book.

Sounds risky, right? Like a self-published book that was self-pubbed because the author couldn’t find a home for it in traditional publishing?

It does sound like it–but it’s Judith Ivory’s Black Silk, published by Berkley in 1991, and republished in 2002.

I read Black Silk way back when I first returned to romance, and I know I liked it at the time, but I’m not sure I appreciated it as fully as I should have. I never, ever re-read, so this was a big deal for me to pick up again–but I knew I was in the mood for something perilously close to literary fiction, but with a happy ending, and I knew Ivory, especially her early books, would suit. Plus it had been so long my memory was hazy with what exactly had happened during the course of the book. I just knew I liked it.

At the end, when Graham finds Submit (yes–that’s the heroine’s name) and bares his soul, the language is practically elegaic:

“I love soft saddles and mean horses and bright, booming fireworks that end in a rain of sparkling ash. I would love to roll around on the floor with all of these, touching them with the most sensitive parts of my body. But the truth is, none of them are really as good for fucking as the woman I love. And you’re it.”

Later on, she’s trying to pull away from him–after that declaration, even!–and he says,

“Submit, listen to me. There are probably good reasons why we shouldn’t be together. But the overriding fact is I love you, and you love me–you need me. I can keep your life form becoming hopelessly earthbound. And I need you, as sure as leaps in the air need gravity.”

Whoa. Who could resist that? I couldn’t–and luckily for our Happy Ending, neither can Submit. Black Silk is a rarity, a risk-taking book that succeeds in what it attempts, a literary fiction book masquerading as a romance, a delicious tour de force from an immensely-talented hand.

Besides our books, what books have taken risks that you’ve loved?

This week has been a busy one–I received my second round of revisions for my upcoming William Morrow book, so I have to get cracking on those, plus I’m revising my Regency-set historical, AND dealing with parent/teacher conferences and being sick and stuff.

The worst part about not feeling well is dealing with the resulting lethargy–it’s really hard for me to get motivated when I’m headache-y and grouchy, so I look to outside forces to aid me.

For me, the outside forces include such carrot-on-stick ploys as “You can play Scramble once you’ve finished this chapter,” or “No wine unless you’ve at least opened the document” to “After this, you can google image pix of Michael Fassbender for at least five minutes.”

How do you reward yourself?

It’s Veterans’ Day, and is also 11/11/11, which is mystifyingly wonderful for people who believe the Julian calendar means something other than a random way to mark time (I don’t mean to be dismissive, or maybe I do, but in either case I think it’s silly).

Veterans’ Day, though, is important. Like all of us, I’m sure, I have relatives who served in the military, and I honor those people who fought so that we wouldn’t have to. I wish there was a more meaningful and helpful thing to do other than say “Thank you,” but that’s all I’ve got.

So thank you.

Megan

PS: Props to Diane, whose cover soldier is the art for today.

Now that revisions are done on the contemporary, I am returning my attention to my Regency-set historical book, and am wrestling with some anomalous issues:

Namely, how does my virginal heroine have even the slightest clue what to do when it comes to sexytimes with the hero?

Unlike me, my heroine did not have her mother’s naughty paperbacks lying around; nor did she likely talk sex with anyone–she grew up in a vicarage with her father and brother. It would be a very different kind of book if she actually talked sex with either of them. But I am not Eloisa James, and can not write a deliberately bad sex scene, where one or more of the participants has no idea what to do.

How can I give her knowledge without making her a total anomaly?

All suggestions welcome!

So this was made official yesterday:

What if my husband left me?

What if I had to do something to make money?

What if I met a few good-looking men?

What if I had to do things I wouldn’t do in a million years?

I started writing. The book was originally titled Mothering Heights, but we changed it as we got closer to a deal.