conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first five paragraphs for a book with the title 'Beautiful Creatures'
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Beautiful Creatures
  Lena wasn't discouraged by my dad's frightening social skills, even though I was. I looked at him, hair uncombed, black circles under his eyes. When had it gotten this bad?
  Amma looked anxious. Aunt Caroline tried to distract everyone from what was quickly becoming the most embarrassing night of my life. "Lena, where did you say you moved here from?"
  But I couldn't hear her answer. I couldn't hear anything. Instead, all I could see was everything moving in slow motion. Blurring, expanding and contracting, like the way heat waves look as they move through the air.
  The room was frozen, except it wasn't. I was frozen. My father was frozen. His eyes were narrow, his lips rounded to form sounds that hadn't had a chance to escape his lips. Still staring at the plateful of mashed potatoes, untouched. The Sisters, Aunt Caroline, and Marian were like statues. Even the air was perfectly still. The pendulum of the grandfather clock had stopped in mid-swing.
  I tried to answer her, but I couldn't. When Ridley had me in her death grip, I had been sure I was going to freeze to death. Now I was frozen, except I wasn't cold and I wasn't dead.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: two more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: What had my father been doing all this time, avoiding me? What was the point of sleeping all day and working all night, if you weren't working on the great American novel? If you were scribbling rows and rows of circles? Escaping from your only child? Did Amma know? Was everyone in on the joke but me?
  Neither one of us needed to read the penciled label on the back of the frame to know who it was. He even had the lanky brown hair hanging down in his face.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last paragraph
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Like Lena, writing has gotten MARGARET STOHL in and out of trouble since she was fifteen. She has written and designed many popular video games, which is why her two bad beagles are named Zelda and Kirby. Margaret fell in love with American literature at Amherst and Yale, earned an MA in English from Stanford, and studied creative writing under poet George MacBeth at the University of East Anglia, Norwich.