Friends are great—especially my friend Molly, who graciously agreed to blog for me whilst I am on deadline. Huzzah for Molly!

Maya and I went to college together. While for some, this means basketball games and afternoons on the quad, for us it translated into long overcast afternoons in New York City coffee shops. Thriving in the flexi-free schedule of academia, we spent a semester getting credit for our musings over Inanna, Medea, Joan of Arc, and Jane Eyre while consuming lattes and the secondhand cigarette smoke wafting in from the now defunct smoking section of the Xando on 13th and Broadway.
My major was archaeology and comparative mythology. Hers was a focus on women writers and readers throughout history. We were esoteric and enigmatic, and loved every minute of it. So one can imagine my surprise when, upon inquiring about her plans for the rest of a rain soaked evening, she said she was going to have a bath and read a romance novel.
“What? Why?” I assumed it must be some study of the masses, or perhaps an investigation into the vernacular.
“Because my momma told me to.” Maya loves the word momma.
“Ok, whatever,” I replied, judgmentally.
“My momma says that if I’m going to study women writers, characters, and readers, I can’t skip over one of the biggest industries ever. These are women who write about other women, for women.”
I was a little relieved when she suggested it was largely for research purposes. She continued however, to spout off many other good reasons for indulging in romance novels. Not the least of which is that one third of all books sold are romance novels, and that is with little, if any, advertising. We then started musing about why they are so disrespected and thought of as such trash, and yet, why do they fly off the shelves?
“Have you ever read one?” Maya challenged.
“Well… no,” I answered slightly embarrassed, since I have always prided myself on being prepared to support my opinions; quite possibly the only worthwhile thing academia has actually taught me.
Knowing my secret adoration for pirates, Maya suggested I break my romance novel maidenhead with The Pirate Lord by Sabrina Jeffries. Unlike losing my virginity, it was more than I thought it could be. Women are exonerated, scoundrels are redeemed, and I came out with a feeling that maybe all the conflamma (our invented word meaning conflict and drama) of relationships might actually be worth it in the end. These books are about women resolving inner conflicts and finding themselves. In these stories, love wins, and everyone is better for it.