This week's slush brought a cover letter in which the writer noted that she was in the process of learning English. Which handily explained why she kept talking about her woodpecker character's "beaks," "feets," and "fathers" (the kind of fathers, one assumes, that grow all over woodpackers).
Still, I have to admire anyone who attempts the million hydra-heads of English language usage. It's a damned hard language, and our attitude only makes it harder. Whereas certain of the French seem to think, "anything that we use this much should be beautiful," Americans are more apt to think, "anything that we use this much should be fun." So we're constantly playing with our language. Want to use that noun as a verb? (to chicken out, eg) Go ahead! Want to garble two words into one, forming a term that adds no particular nuance of meaning to the language, but is fun to say? (chortle; ginormous) Why not?
But there are limits to the amount of fun you can have with the language one publishes. For instance the manuscript that looked like it was supposed to rhyme; was laid out in stanzas... and yet didn't. Was the writer attempting slant rhyme, I asked a fellow editor? "No, this rhymes," she said, and read it back to me in a Brooklyn accent.