conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled Dancing on the Edge about National, Book, Award with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Literature & Fiction.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A mentally ill girl finds her way back to sanity in this 1997 National Book Award winner. PW found the first half "tedious and confusing" but redeemed by the "realistic and thought-provoking" conclusion. Ages 12-up. <BR>Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a plot for a book about National, Book, Award.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Dancing on the Edge (TV series): The series follows a black jazz band's experiences in London in the 1930s.\nMade up of talented musicians and managed by the compassionate yet short-tempered Wesley Holt, the band gets a gig at the Imperial Hotel, by way of cunning journalist Stanley Mitchell.\nThey prove to be a hit, and become a success at the hotel.\nCountless aristocrats—and the Royal Family—ask the band to play at parties.\nThe media rush to interview and photograph the band—including the ambitious American businessman Walter Masterson and his enthusiastic British employee Julian.\nThe band's success spirals, being offered record deals.\nBut tragedy strikes, setting off a chain of events that may wreck the band's career.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Dancing on the Edge
  Tristan's pleading was falling on deaf ears. He knew that repeating himself would be useless. When Garrick was in one of his painting trances, there would be no shifting him. Tristan sighed in frustration. As much as he adored Garrick, there were times that his lover could be the most infuriating man on the planet.
  Tristan rolled his deep brown eyes dubiously. He doubted that Garrick would ever be able to stop being so demanding when he painted. It was a part of who he was.
  Tristan considered what an outsider would see if someone were to come upon the two of them unexpectedly. It was early October and the woods around Faversham Park were vibrant with a riot of colour. Every shade of gold, orange, red and yellow competed for prevalence in the canopy above them. There was little warmth in the autumn sun, but the light flickered through the trees, turning leaves to glowing jewels all around.
  Beneath Tristan's bare—and very cold—feet, a thick carpet of dark green moss skirted the spreading trunk of the ancient oak he was positioned alongside. His long, slim legs were encased in soft, antique brown leather trousers, which sat low enough on his hips that the initials 'G.B.', branded just above the bone, could clearly be seen. He was naked from the waist up, pale skin taut across the toned muscles of his slender frame. His nipples felt tight and hard from the cold, and were aching a little in a way that he thought might be pleasantly relieved by a warm tongue and soft lips.
  He shivered, not solely from the cold, and focused on Garrick's dark, tumbling waves and sculpted cheekbones. He was so gorgeous that Tristan could almost forget the wide leather collar Garrick had locked around his neck. Almost, but not quite—it was just too uncomfortable. About three inches wide, it was very stiff, forcing him to keep his head up. The small gold padlock that held it closed rested on his skin, just heavy enough to ensure that he could not ignore its presence. His dark brown, copper-streaked hair stirred in the breeze as he rested his weight against the gnarled bark of the tree and steeled himself for a longer wait.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me two more paragraphs.. Start with the sentence 'Beneath Tristan's bare—and very cold—feet, a thick carpet of dark green moss skirted the spreading trunk of the ancient oak he was positioned alongside'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Beneath Tristan's bare—and very cold—feet, a thick carpet of dark green moss skirted the spreading trunk of the ancient oak he was positioned alongside. His long, slim legs were encased in soft, antique brown leather trousers, which sat low enough on his hips that the initials 'G.B.', branded just above the bone, could clearly be seen. He was naked from the waist up, pale skin taut across the toned muscles of his slender frame. His nipples felt tight and hard from the cold, and were aching a little in a way that he thought might be pleasantly relieved by a warm tongue and soft lips.
  He shivered, not solely from the cold, and focused on Garrick's dark, tumbling waves and sculpted cheekbones. He was so gorgeous that Tristan could almost forget the wide leather collar Garrick had locked around his neck. Almost, but not quite—it was just too uncomfortable. About three inches wide, it was very stiff, forcing him to keep his head up. The small gold padlock that held it closed rested on his skin, just heavy enough to ensure that he could not ignore its presence. His dark brown, copper-streaked hair stirred in the breeze as he rested his weight against the gnarled bark of the tree and steeled himself for a longer wait.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Garrick had just given him an evil grin and held out his hand for the shirt. Tristan had been shivering ever since.
  Finally, Garrick put down his brush and straightened up. "Okay. That's enough for today." Tristan waited expectantly as his beautiful boyfriend crunched through the fallen leaves towards him and gathered him into his arms. "If you didn't look so beautiful, I wouldn't get quite so absorbed."
  Tristan opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. Arguing with Garrick over something like this was a pointless exercise in frustration. Thank God they had no house guests. At least there was no one else around to witness his humiliation.
  Lucinda lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.
  She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire. She's fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle (and not so subtle) leanings towards BDSM.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She's fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle (and not so subtle) leanings towards BDSM.. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire.
  She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.
  Lucinda lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. At least there was no one else around to witness his humiliation. Thank God they had no house guests. Arguing with Garrick over something like this was a pointless exercise in frustration."
  Tristan opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. "If you didn't look so beautiful, I wouldn't get quite so absorbed." Tristan waited expectantly as his beautiful boyfriend crunched through the fallen leaves towards him and gathered him into his arms. That's enough for today. "Okay.
  Finally, Garrick put down his brush and straightened up. Tristan had been shivering ever since.Garrick had just given him an evil grin and held out his hand for the shirt