conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about span, Herald with the genre: Biographies & Memoirs, Historical?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Stone of Destiny'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is a description for a book titled Stone of Destiny about Tarot, Stone, Destiny with the genre: Romance, Historical? Start with the sentence 'the author has been psychic and seen visions all of her life, and her ongoing spiritual journey embraces magic and miracles'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: the author has been psychic and seen visions all of her life, and her ongoing spiritual journey embraces magic and miracles. She is a respected teacher of meditation as well as an accomplished energy worker, astrologer, and Tarot reader. Stone of Destiny is the first of three historical novels she has written that break through the strictures of the romance genre by featuring intelligent, capable heroines who are not afraid to acknowledge their passion as well as their abilities. These are romance novels for grown-ups. Currently Jackie is finishing an autobiographical novel that puts her spiritual journey in the context of her conservative Southern milieu during the 50s and 60s, and shows how inner strength and awareness of the support of Spirit can, indeed, work miracles. Coming soon from Close Hand Press.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is a description for a book titled Stone of Destiny about Mary, Christian, North with the genre: Christian Books & Bibles, Literature & Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Mary L. the author lives in North Carolina and writes novels and Christian articles. Her passion is weaving together inspirational romantic suspense and mysteries, which show the imperfect lives of everyday characters as they face hardships while discovering the real meaning of grace. Her books encourage you to see the magic of love and a divine guidance that often lies dormant, waiting to be found by each of us. When shes not writing she enjoys family and singing Gospel music with her husband. Some of her Christian Articles are found on Examiner.com at: http://www.examiner.com/christian-living-in-greensboro/mary-ball. Learn more about Mary at http://MaryLouwrites.weebly.com.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Mary L. the author lives in North Carolina and writes novels and Christian articles. Her passion is weaving together inspirational romantic suspense and mysteries, which show the imperfect lives of everyday characters as they face hardships while discovering the real meaning of grace. Her books encourage you to see the magic of love and a divine guidance that often lies dormant, waiting to be found by each of us. When shes not writing she enjoys family and singing Gospel music with her husband. Some of her Christian Articles are found on Examiner.com at: http://www.examiner.com/christian-living-in-greensboro/mary-ball. Learn more about Mary at http://MaryLouwrites.weebly.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Stone of Destiny
  He was 26, a year older than me, as I was just newly 25. Like me he was small in stature, but he had a commanding presence. By sheer force of argument and personality he could persuade the most reluctant audience whether in public or private, because he was as able a speaker in debate as he was in committee. He was a ready-witted politician in the Liberal cause, which, then as now, permitted its adherents to formulate their own policy, and I don't mean that as a jibe.
  For the job we contemplated, qualities were needed other than those of a politician, and he possessed these par excellence. Calm and unruffled in the most adverse of circumstances, he had that type of temperament which can never admit defeat, and will turn disaster into glorious victory. Add to this that he is small and Pictish, like so many Scots, because we are all as much Picts as Scots, and imagine a Puckish smile concealing a wicked sense of humour, and you have a picture of Bill.
  Yet before I approached him I wanted to have something to lay before him. I dropped no more than a hint in the right quarter and saw from the reaction that there were people in Scotland not averse to financing such an enterprise. For my part the idea had now grown from a mere discontent to a passion that made me think of little else. Apart from the hint about finance I had mentioned the scheme to no one. The need for secrecy was great. I had seen others bluster and talk about what they were going to do, and then fail to get to the starting point, and I did not wish to be one of them.
  My starting point came in early November of 1950. I knew then that my decision was made. I was going after the Stone. Hell mend you or bend you, I was going to have a crack at it. I became impatient of politics, and discussions and arguments, and closed my mind to them, for I was now convinced that my course of conduct was right, and if it was wrong, it hurt no one but myself. Further dreaming could not have made the issue clearer. I decided to approach Bill Craig.
  I met him in the street one November afternoon, and prised him apart from his friends. I told him in a few words what was on my mind.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is five more paragraphs? Start with the sentence 'For half an hour Alan had been arguing that the main road was the best place'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: For half an hour Alan had been arguing that the main road was the best place. 'Hide it where they'll least expect it,' he urged, but I would not listen to him. I feared discovery by the chance passer-by. Now, however, when I saw how densely populated the district was, I knew he was right and fell into agreement with him. The problem was how to get back into the main road, because we were hopelessly lost, and our large-scale touring map was of little use to us. At length by luck, and by diligently reading the signposts, we found it and turned south.
  In this wilderness of suburbs I was suddenly homesick. I thought of my own underpopulated country, and how easy it would be to hide an army in it. I saw the Braes up behind Paisley where I had been born, and remembered the greyness of them in winter when the south-west wind came in from Ailsa Craig and the rain washed them and bent the rough grass flat. That was a country where a man had room to move and think without trespassing on his neighbour's garden or thinking his neighbour's thoughts. I thought of the island of Arran, which hangs like a mirage far beyond Renfrewshire, but clear in the grey sea on a good day. I had gone there on holiday once. You could tramp over the hills all day and see nothing but the heather and the green bracken; you could watch the rain come in over the Kilbrannan Sound and wipe Goat Fell clean off the picture. I wondered if any of these men of Kent had ever seen the blush of green bracken on the throat of a hill. If they had not, I pitied them.
  It was a far cry from the hills to this place and we knew it well. Half a mile down the road we stopped and looked around us. Anything was better than to drive until dawn brought arrest. It seemed to our strained nerves that to make the effort of hiding the Stone was better than to drive aimlessly. On the south side of the road was a stretch of grass, perhaps 20 paces across; beyond this was a clump of bushes in which a sparrow would have looked like an eagle. With the optimism born of fear we dragged the Stone across and thrust it into the undergrowth, only to drag it back, laughing at our folly, to fight down the fear and panic which was rising in our throats. Were we never going to come to an end?
  We let in the clutch and drove east, thinking of the seashore. A few miles further on we passed the outline of aircraft hangars on our right and shortly after came to a line of trees. Alan stopped the car and I ran over to examine the place.
  It was ideal. The road at this point was 10 yards out from the trees, and beyond the fence the ground sloped steeply down an embankment to a wood. The embankment was overgrown, and littered with dead leaves, windblown straw, and scraps of paper. Above all a quick scratch with my hand showed that the leaves had kept the frost from penetrating the ground, so that the earth was soft, and could easily be hollowed away to make a bed for the Stone.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: We four were no part of the devolutionary settlement. We are not even a footnote to history although some people say we are. What we truly were was a representative group of our own generation. That generation included Winnie Ewing, a university colleague and personal friend, and many others. We belong to a generation that saw the need for change and who set about making it. We were only 60 years before our time. All of us in our different ways played our small parts but we were the products of history, not its creator.
  As for my long life, breaking into a holy place is not good preparation for entry into the most conservative of professions, but I survived. We three survivors of the original four are now very old. This exercise in looking back is not typical of me, nor so far as I know of them. Life is for living and even at my great age I prefer a motorbike to a keyboard.
  I repeat myself as old men do. Remember us with some kindness. What we did we did for Scotland and what we do for Scotland we do for all the world.
  When on 25 March 1707 James Ogilvie, Earl of Seafield, Chancellor of Scotland, signed the Act of Union, ending Scotland's ancient independence, and merging the two parliaments of Scotland and England into the United Kingdom Parliament, he threw down the quill with these words: 'Now there's the end of an auld sang.'
  It may be, it just may be, that on Christmas Day 1950 four young people wrote a new verse to that old song. Whatever we did, the song is still being sung.