In the halls of the wise and wonderful she felt pretty insignificant. She contributed only one zero to the family tax return, not a whole string of them. She wrote children’s stories illustrated with crayon and pencil, no elaborate parlance there with paintings for palace walls. She even dreamed small, seeking just one iota of recognition, for writing, housework, laboring with kids. Those last ones seeming impossible she was really concentrating on the first.
In corridors of the writing conference she still felt insignificant, till she realized the speaker was just like her and she learned to believe in dreams.