The narrator laments the fact that he is only ten years old and that he will be dead by the time he reaches the age of thirty. He wonders if there is any reason for him to want to be a writer. The guidance counselor tells him that he should go to college and become a writer himself. The narrator scoffs at the idea that anyone can come up with such a brilliant idea as himself. He compares the idea of becoming a writer to standing on a battlefield without a weapon and criticizes the writer's grammar and lack of imagination. He concludes that the writer is "some kind of moron."