conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Named, Best, Books with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'The Husband Hour'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first two paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Husband Hour
  She remembered how proud she'd felt seeing her byline for the first time. It was the lead article in the sports section. And just when she thought she couldn't be any happier, a text came from Rory: Congrats.
  Lauren, stunned, stared at her phone, completely at a loss as to how she should respond. She was distracted by hearing her name shouted from across the hallway in the confident bellow of a born cheerleader.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She had a bad attitude, she knew. And she could barely hide it. She hated Seattle. The change in climate from Southern California was a shock to her system. Yes, she had grown up on the East Coast where winters were cold. So it wasn't really the weather. It was that going from a sunny seventy-five degrees to damp, cold overcast days in the thirties seemed a representation of the dismal turn their life had taken.
  As for the apartment itself, she couldn't really complain. Under other circumstances, she might have found it charming.
  Their last night before his deployment, she woke up an hour after she'd fallen asleep, rain landing like pennies outside on the metal air-conditioning unit. It was hard to imagine ever needing air-conditioning in that climate, and that's probably why the building wasn't equipped with central air, just the clunky window units.
  It wasn't the first night she'd woken to the tinny clatter, but that night, she knew she wouldn't fall asleep again.
  Next to her, Rory lay still, his back to her, inches from her own listless body. They'd had sex before going to sleep, but she had been too much in her own head to enjoy it. She spent every second trying to memorize him, the way the crook of his neck smelled, the thrill—still!—of his hands on her hips, the first few heart-racing seconds when his body pierced hers. But was there any true pleasure in it that night? For her, no.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about Tacoma, Narrows, Bridge.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She had a bad attitude, she knew. And she could barely hide it. She hated Seattle. The change in climate from Southern California was a shock to her system. Yes, she had grown up on the East Coast where winters were cold. So it wasn't really the weather. It was that going from a sunny seventy-five degrees to damp, cold overcast days in the thirties seemed a representation of the dismal turn their life had taken. 
  As for the apartment itself, she couldn't really complain. It was a lot of space for very little money, with a view of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge. Under other circumstances, she might have found it charming. 
  Their last night before his deployment, she woke up an hour after she'd fallen asleep, rain landing like pennies outside on the metal air-conditioning unit. It was hard to imagine ever needing air-conditioning in that climate, and that's probably why the building wasn't equipped with central air, just the clunky window units. 
  It wasn't the first night she'd woken to the tinny clatter, but that night, she knew she wouldn't fall asleep again. 
  Next to her, Rory lay still, his back to her, inches from her own listless body. They'd had sex before going to sleep, but she had been too much in her own head to enjoy it. She spent every second trying to memorize him, the way the crook of his neck smelled, the thrill—still!—of his hands on her hips, the first few heart-racing seconds when his body pierced hers. But was there any true pleasure in it that night? For her, no.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Again, Lauren hesitated. Five years, and she'd never spoken one word to the press. The lights dimmed, signaling the audience to get settled in their seats. It was happening. The time for truth had come.
  The man in the charcoal suit took the microphone and welcomed everyone to the festival and the premiere of "this important film. Matt jumped up and returned to the stage and took the mic. Lauren's stomach did a tiny flip, a combination of nerves and pride—for Rory, and for Matt.
  The crowd erupted in vigorous applause. Lauren watched the curtain rise on the giant screen in front of her. Matt returned to his seat.
  Thanks also to Donna McCarthy, owner of Hannah-G's restaurant in Ventnor, New Jersey (the inspiration for Nora's Café), Ellen Rosenberg of the Lower Merion Ice Hockey Club, and the Jewish Book Council.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about erupted.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Again, Lauren hesitated. Five years, and she'd never spoken one word to the press. The lights dimmed, signaling the audience to get settled in their seats. It was happening. The time for truth had come. 
  The man in the charcoal suit took the microphone and welcomed everyone to the festival and the premiere of "this important film. "
  The room erupted in applause. Matt jumped up and returned to the stage and took the mic. Lauren's stomach did a tiny flip, a combination of nerves and pride—for Rory, and for Matt. 
  The crowd erupted in vigorous applause. Lauren watched the curtain rise on the giant screen in front of her. Matt returned to his seat. 
  Thanks also to Donna McCarthy, owner of Hannah-G's restaurant in Ventnor, New Jersey (the inspiration for Nora's Café), Ellen Rosenberg of the Lower Merion Ice Hockey Club, and the Jewish Book Council.