The young girl is a fool, indeed. She had started upon the mark of her seventh grade-no, fifth-, thinking her writing to be to its absolute perfection, thinking it to materialize into a book in which a many would love. But such foolishness is scowled upon now. Her writing will always improve and always be needing improvement, as to complete her silly dreams. To one day, she aspires to be an author, to have her work recognized and nodded upon. Ah, but of course is the millions of bumps and rickets down that road to make her one beloved thing no less difficult than being a lawyer.  And she is aware that her dream is a good course away, so as of now, she simply does what she loves and works at what she loves and hopes to be acknowledged. She writes