conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a story titled The Darkest Corner of the World about em>The, Darkest, Corner with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Historical Fiction.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A worthy addition to the historical fiction collection of any library [since] life under Soviet occupation during the 1940s is not so much unlike the repressed societies that are the mainstay of the dystopian genre it is conceivable that <em>The Darkest Corner of the World</em> would suit the interests and sensibilities of readers looking for greater reading variety across the genres. at its core, <em>The Darkest Corner of the World</em> is a World War II historical fiction novel: a pretty good one at that. ( CM Magazine )
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first two paragraphs for this story.. Start with the sentence 'The Darkest Corner of the World
  Madli managed a nod'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Darkest Corner of the World
  Madli managed a nod. The only thing she wanted was to see Toomas. Grandpa assumed she was still a little girl, interested in concocting medicine from ants, vodka, and earthworms.
  Papa used to find the biggest, fattest earthworms for Grandpa. The image of Papa as a little boy pulled tears from deep within her. She shook off the vision and returned to the kitchen. "How long are we going to be gone?" Madli handed the jar to Nana.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Nana's red-rimmed eyes were filled with anguish. "No. Go back to Kalju and Peeter." She scrubbed the corner of the cabinet. "I put aside lots of food for you. It's in the bag in the pantry."
  Back at the threshing barn, the boys were outside picking berries. Madli stashed the manuscript inside the the massive oven; if the barn burned the oven would remain intact. "Don't worry, I won't forget this time," she said, feeling slightly foolish talking to a pile of paper.
  EARLY SUNDAY MORNING MADLI zigzagged through the forest, swatting furiously at the mosquitoes. She leapt over a fallen log and sprinted to her grandparents' farmhouse, already tasting the fresh bread and milk. She hadn't seen her grandparents since Valter left, and had to find out what had happened at the harbour on Friday. She burst into the kitchen.
  Nana and Grandpa sat across from each other, both staring into their half-eaten porridge bowls. "I dreamt of the Midnight Mother spinning." Nana twisted her spoon in her porridge.
  For generations, Estonians had believed that string left on a spinning wheel overnight would be spun by the ööema, the Midnight Mother: a restless ghost whose spinning would be heard throughout the house, but who could not be seen at her work. The sound of the wheel being spun by the Midnight Mother was an ill omen, signifying that someone was going to die.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Nana's red-rimmed eyes were filled with anguish. "No. Go back to Kalju and Peeter." She scrubbed the corner of the cabinet. "I put aside lots of food for you. It's in the bag in the pantry."
  Back at the threshing barn, the boys were outside picking berries. Madli stashed the manuscript inside the the massive oven; if the barn burned the oven would remain intact. "Don't worry, I won't forget this time," she said, feeling slightly foolish talking to a pile of paper.
  EARLY SUNDAY MORNING MADLI zigzagged through the forest, swatting furiously at the mosquitoes. She leapt over a fallen log and sprinted to her grandparents' farmhouse, already tasting the fresh bread and milk. She hadn't seen her grandparents since Valter left, and had to find out what had happened at the harbour on Friday. She burst into the kitchen.
  Nana and Grandpa sat across from each other, both staring into their half-eaten porridge bowls. "I dreamt of the Midnight Mother spinning." Nana twisted her spoon in her porridge.
  For generations, Estonians had believed that string left on a spinning wheel overnight would be spun by the ööema, the Midnight Mother: a restless ghost whose spinning would be heard throughout the house, but who could not be seen at her work.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last two paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Oodles of gratitude go to my critique partners, Sherry Isaac and Sharon Bernas. They have lived through four years of writing, polishing, and revising. Without their encouragement and gentle, perceptive criticism, I would never have gotten this far (especially with the romantic scenes!). Early drafts were read by members of Kidcrit, an online critique group organized and led by Marsha Skrypuch.
  Many thanks to my husband, Rod, and children, Katrina, Sonja, and Kenni, for their continuous support and inspiration, and allowing me the time to sit in my office every day and write.