My husband was wandering around Yerushalayim (Jerusalem) today, looking for a certain street, and he met up with some yeshivah bochurim (students) who helped him find his way.

"What's your name?" they asked him, friendly-like.

"Joel Pomerantz," said he.

"Oh," they said, "The only Pomerantz we know is the writer."

My husband proceeded to tell them that "the writer" is his wife, at which point they allegedly professed their undying and open enthusiasm for Green Fences.

When I wrote this serial I never in my wildest dreams imagined that it would be something that would appeal to yeshivah guys. But the truth is, why wouldn't it? Soon enough, they'll be married, and the concept of dealing with female relationships, envy, and navigating the waters of shalom bayis (harmony in the home) is one they probably like to chew on every once in awhile. Cute anecdote, no? :-)

My neighbor calls me up. She's got seminary girls who need a meal and can I host them? And "Oh," she says, "When they heard that my neighbor is Riva Pomerantz, they REALLY wanted to go to you for a meal."

Well, that's encouraging. It's Thursday night. I have deadlines to meet, Shabbos cooking to finish, and I committed to giving a Friday night shiur for neighborhood women. But there are seminary girls coming and they "REALLY want to go to Riva Pomerantz for a meal."

I recently met a young woman--very sweet, very nice; we chatted together for a little while. Nothing special. Then, in the course of the conversation, she happens to mention that she is the daughter of a spiritual "celebrity" in the chareidi world. Bam! Presto Change-o! All of a sudden she's interesting, she sparkles, the conversation becomes animated and compelling! Of course, I could just about whack myself on the side of the head for this really inexcusable behavior. Is this girl the sum total of her well-known father?! Does the expectation instantly rise when I discover her fame? The astute observer will predict very quickly where this is going...

Am I the sum total of my writing? Is there an expectation of some brilliant wow factor that will immediately electrify the atmosphere of our Shabbos meal together as these seminary girls look on with awe? Will my kids behave like perfect little angels? Will my house be spotless? Will I serve a five-course gourmet meal and a complex, Rich's whip-laden confection for dessert? What expectations lie behind the words "When they heard that my neighbor is Riva Pomerantz, they REALLY wanted to go to you for a meal." Am I any different a person than BEFORE I became a writer? Ask my mother. I don't think so.

See this is where my mind becomes a dangerous neighborhood. There's a line that line that goes something like "I am the person you think I think you think I am". Who says these girls are expecting Perfectionville? Maybe these girls think writers are dirty, disorganized people (now we're approaching Reality city limits!), live in tiny, dank closets, and they beat their children with long, wooden pens. Maybe they think I'll have wrinkles and a toothless grin and I'll serve them a meager meal of dry, tasteless challah and a bit of chicken. Ya never know!

Or MAYBE they think I'm just a regular, normal mother-wife-daughter who happens to have a cool job and they have no expectations whatsover. Hmmmm....

Well guess what, guys--I just burned the gefilte fish. 

So I often get stopped by people who read my stuff and find out that I'm the Riva Pomerantz who writes. And it's a funny thing, really, because very often they'll say, "YOU'RE Riva Pomerantz?! You're so...normal!" A friend of mine told me she had a guest over for Shabbos and they must have been talking about my serial, Green Fences, when this guest said, "You'll never believe it. I MET Riva Pomerantz, at the grocery store, and guess what! She's NORMAL! She's actually really nice."

Now, I don't know about you, but I have mixed feelings on this. Basically, I'm wondering about the implied belief that people with any sort of name recognition are expected to be anything less than "normal". Like, if you get published does your laundry suddenly disappear? (Or are we writers supposed to be making so much money that we can afford full-time, live-in help!) Do our kids magically stop having tantrums, and our dishes get washed and put away by themselves? (Major disclosure here, folks: At risk of revoking my "normal" status to descend to "sub-normal", I will bravely reveal here the highly personal, unabashed truth: I have no dishwasher! GASP! Are you sure you still want to read my stuff?)

So after I ponder whether a modicum of fame must needs banish one's normalcy, I'm on to the next dragon: Is it okay to be NICE when you're a published writer? Like why the shock that I'm "ACTUALLY NICE"?! Is it bad for my image? Should I be stuck-up, arrogant, condescending? Will that conjure up more of a mystique, of exquisite exclusiveness and propel me into a class of my own? Is it jarring to readers to find me smiling, shmoozing, and asking them what they're making tonight for supper? I asked my husband if, in the name of career, he thinks I should actively work on becoming a snob. He doesn't think so. ;-) Shucks. It would be so much more fun to devote myself to working on being snobby than avodas ha-middos (self-improvement) in the other areas, y'know, like judging favorably, avoiding anger and selfishness--type of thing! What a wise husband I have :-).