A GRANDMA LIKE YOURS: A GRANDPA LIKE YOURS

No matter what you call them, grandparents can be counted on to make each Jewish holiday special! An amusing bestiary of grandparents and kids frolic front to back and back to front through the pages of this flip book.

Text copyright © 2006 by Andria Warmflash Rosenbaum
Ilustrations copyright © 2006 by Barb Björnson
Published by Kar-Ben Publishing/
Lerner Publishing Group

TWO SWEET PEAS
Within a series of poems, Africa and Ana become best friends while doing something extraordinary for their families and neighbors.

Available in both English and Spanish from
Bebop Books/Lee & Low Books Inc., August 2005
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ACCEPTANCE AND AUTHENTICITY
By
Andria Warmflash Rosenbaum

When I read my mail that day, I wasn’t greeted by the flash of cameras or the roar of applause. But that’s what it felt like when I received my first acceptance letter. There truly is no greater feeling for someone who’s always thought of herself as a writer. That letter was my coronation from amateur status to professional. Suddenly I was armed, able to dismiss the blush that colored my cheeks whenever someone asked me what I did. I had arrived. I was a writer!

I grew wings that day. But, as I read the rest of the letter I came back down to Earth.

“We’d like to drop the first four lines and edit a few words in order for your poem to conform to our style.”

Was I willing to sacrifice some of my words? The words I’d chosen and labored over as carefully as a jeweler chooses his gems? You bet I was! No, I can’t say I had ever considered selling my first born for a byline, but I had promised myself that by the time I turned forty, my work would be seen someplace more public than the top of my desk. I was going to be published, and they were going to pay me for my words. Besides, this was just one of many poems I’d written. It wasn’t even my very best work! I had hundreds more where that came from.

That’s when I started hearing a little voice in my head. No, was all it said. Of course, that one voice was quickly overruled. Time was running out. Forty was only a few months away. I needed to start piling up my publishing credits. What choice did I have but to submit to the editor’s will? I didn’t want her to reject this poem, or any others I had yet to submit.

Nine months went by. I gave the matter little thought as I continued to write with new confidence in my abilities. I was fueled by the fact that my work was about to be published! I had contact with a real, live editor. She wanted more of my work. I sent her six other poems and she put four more on hold! Soon, I received a letter detailing the specifics: what issue my poem would appear in, how much I would be paid, which rights I was selling.

Again, that nagging little voice whispered for me to respectfully reconsider. At least, it begged, ask to preview a copy of the poem with her changes. All she can say is no.

I didn’t want to rock the boat. I signed the invoice and efficiently sent it back. I promptly received my check which I waved around the house like a winning lottery ticket. “See!" that check said to me. “You really are a writer!”

I waited and waited to receive my contributor’s copies. Then I realized I could view the library’s copy. My hands actually trembled as I opened the magazine. The poem was prominently displayed on a two page spread with colorful artwork. I read my name and sighed with contentment. Then I read the poem.

The color must have left my face faster than water down a drain. I felt like an imposter, a thief, a no-good-lying cheater. Okay, so she said she was going to take out a few lines and change some words. That’s an editor’s job, right? But, this poem had a different tone. It reminded me of a classic picture book by one of my favorite children’s authors. It was a far cry from my original poem.

To make matters worse my name was attached to it. I thought anyone who knew anything about children’s literature might think that I had tried to plagiarize that famous book. I didn’t want to show it to anyone. I agonized as I imagined some book editor perusing a copy of “my” poem and laughing at the idea that such a charlatan could possibly call herself a writer. Talk about chutzpah!

Somehow, I worked up enough courage to show the magazine to my family and my critique group. Naturally, my parents proclaimed me an instant celebrity and asked for autographed copies. The writers, I’m glad to say were much more generous to me than I was to myself. So it wasn’t the poem exactly as I had written it. And yes, they could see how it brought to mind parts of a particular picture book. But the poem was also different. My friends explained that to be a writer doesn’t mean that all your words are carved in stone. I am a writer even if I never sell my creations, because I would write if all I had was a stick and a patch of dirt.

To be a writer you must have discipline, determination, ideas, imagination, perseverance and a need to write your thoughts down. It’s a plus if you have talent too, but even the most talented writers must submit to the editor’s pen. I made an informed choice to relinquish my rights as well as my words. The editor never pulled any punches. I was the one who chose not to question.

Since then I've sold two books, as well as more poetry and short stories to other publications. Thankfully, I’ve been pleased with the final printed products. Maybe one day my work will be in such demand that I won’t have to conform to word restrictions, line counts and house styles. More likely, I’ll win the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes! In any event, I’ll keep my words swimming around and around like tadpoles in a pond, until they all find their way out into the world.


This article first appeared in Once Upon A Time/ Summer 2000
© 2005 by Andria Warmflash Rosenbaum. All rights reserved.