conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide a plot for a book about Joey, Joey\'s, Pigza entitled Joey Pigza Loses Control.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Joey Pigza Loses Control: Joey Pigza Loses Control is the story of a young boy suffering from the widely known Attention Deficit hyperactivity disorder.\nThe fiction book begins with Joey and his mother and dog\'s road trip traveling to his father\'s home where he is eager and nervous for what the next six weeks with his Dad, will have in store for him.\nAfter not seeing his father for many years, Joey\'s questions regarding his concerns towards his father, become endless.\nThis array of questions in the form of "What If\'s" that Joey bases his questions on, allows readers a full on experience into the mind of a young boy suffering from ADHD.\nJoey\'s mother, who is clearly highly impacted by his son\'s disorder answers Joey\'s questions vaguely and occasionally, portraying a sense of impatience and relief about Joey\'s upcoming six week stay with his father.\nDuring the road trip, Joey wonders about all kinds of things revolving around what to expect from his dad.\nHe was extremely impatient and nervous but one thing was for sure, it was comforting to know that his mother\'s own worries about Joey\'s father were consuming her thoughts so profoundly, it no longer seemed like Joey and his condition were the only thing on her mind, something that he had become quite accustomed to.\nNow finding a suitable medicine in the form of an arm patch for Joey\'s ADHD, Joey was able to "settle down and think".\nAnd not just think about all the bad things that had already happened.\nHe started thinking about the good things I wanted to happen.\nJoey\'s life takes a major turn when he finally meets his father and feels a sense of familiarity with himself, before the meds, before being placed in the special education classes, his old hyperactive self.\nCarter, Joey\'s father, makes it the summers duty to make up for the time he was absent in his son\'s life.\nCarter teaches Joey the importance of taking control over his own life, and how to be a true winner.\nCarter Pigza takes the first step in helping his son take control, by flushing down Joey\'s ADHD medication down the toilet.\nAs nervous and hesitant as Joey was to "take control" over his own life, Joey followed his father\'s guidance willingly.\nThe conflict between Joey\'s approach at taking control over his life, and trying to please his father is what this fiction novel is based upon.\nJoey becomes increasingly fearful that things will go wrong like they did in the past, and although just a young boy, his father makes dangerous decisions.\nJoey slowly but surely loses control over his behavior and feelings without his medication arm patch, and finds his voice throughout the novel.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first two paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Joey Pigza Loses Control
  Summary: Joey, who is still taking medication to keep him from getting too wired, goes to spend the summer with the hard-drinking father he has never known and tries to help the baseball team he coaches win the championship.
  The strangest things are about to happen in this small town—things involving the newly dead, molten wax, Girl Scout cookies, underage driving,
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide five more paragraphs.. End with the sentence ' Her face was just a hazy pink cupcake with strawberry icing.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: School was finally out and I was standing on a picnic table in our backyard getting ready for a great summer vacation when my mother walked up to me and ruined it. I was holding a pair of camouflage Japanese WWII binoculars to my eyes and focusing across her newly planted vegetable garden, and her cornfield, and over ancient Miss Volker's roof, and then up the Norvelt road, and past the brick bell tower on my school, and beyond the Community Center, and the tall silver whistle on top of the volunteer fire department to the most distant dark blue hill, which is where the screen for the Viking drive-in movie theater had recently been erected.
  Down by my feet I had laid out all the Japanese army souvenirs Dad had shipped home from the war. He had been in the navy, and after a Pacific island invasion in the Solomons he and some other sailor buddies had blindly crawled around at night and found a bunker of dead Japanese soldiers half buried in the sand. They stripped everything military off of them and dragged the loot back to their camp. Dad had an officer's sword with what he said was real dried blood along the razor-sharp edge of the long blade. He had a Japanese flag, a sniper's rifle with a full ammo clip, a dented canteen, a pair of dirty white gloves with a scorched hole shot right through the bloody palm of the left hand, and a color-tinted photo of an elegant Japanese woman in a kimono. Of course he also had the powerful binoculars I was using.
  I knew Mom had come to ruin my fun, so I thought I would distract her and maybe she'd forget what was on her mind.
  She didn't answer my question. Instead, she switched back to why she came to speak to me in the first place. "I just got a call from Miss Volker. She needs a few minutes of your time in the morning, so I told her I'd send you down."
  I gazed at my mom through the binoculars but she was too close to bring into focus. Her face was just a hazy pink cupcake with strawberry icing.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: BLAM! The rifle fired off and violently kicked out of my grip. It flipped into the air before clattering down across the picnic table and sliding onto the ground. "Oh, sweet cheeze-us!" I wailed, and dropped butt first onto the table. "Ohhh! Cheeze-us-crust!" I didn't know the rifle was loaded. I hadn't put a shell in the chamber. My ears were ringing like air raid warnings. I tried to stand but was too dizzy and flopped over. "This is bad. This is bad," I whispered over and over as I desperately gripped the tabletop.
  She sprinted across the grass and mashed through a bed of peonies and lunged toward me like a crazed animal. Before I could drop down and hide under the picnic table she pounced on me. "Oh... my... God!" she panted, and grabbed at my body as I tried to wiggle away. "Oh dear Lord! There's blood! You've been shot! Where?" Then she gasped and pointed directly at my face. Her eyes bugged out and her scream was so high-pitched it was silent.
  I felt her roughly wiping my face while trying to get a clear look at my wound. "Oh, good grief," she suddenly groaned, and flung her bloodied arms down to her side.
  She stomped back toward the house, and I sat there for a few torturous minutes with one hand pressing the towel against my nose and breathed deeply through my mouth. Even through the blood I could smell the flinty gunpowder from the bullet. Dad is going to kill me, I thought. He'll court-martial me and sentence me to death by firing squad. Before I could fully imagine the tragic end of my life I heard an ambulance wailing up the Norvelt road. It took a turn directly into Miss Volker's driveway and stopped. The driver jumped out and sprinted toward her house and jerked open the porch door.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: BLAM! The rifle fired off and violently kicked out of my grip. It flipped into the air before clattering down across the picnic table and sliding onto the ground. "Oh, sweet cheeze-us!" I wailed, and dropped butt first onto the table. "Ohhh! Cheeze-us-crust!" I didn't know the rifle was loaded. I hadn't put a shell in the chamber. My ears were ringing like air raid warnings. I tried to stand but was too dizzy and flopped over. "This is bad. This is bad," I whispered over and over as I desperately gripped the tabletop.
  She sprinted across the grass and mashed through a bed of peonies and lunged toward me like a crazed animal. Before I could drop down and hide under the picnic table she pounced on me. "Oh... my... God!" she panted, and grabbed at my body as I tried to wiggle away. "Oh dear Lord! There's blood! You've been shot! Where?" Then she gasped and pointed directly at my face. Her eyes bugged out and her scream was so high-pitched it was silent.
  I felt her roughly wiping my face while trying to get a clear look at my wound. "Oh, good grief," she suddenly groaned, and flung her bloodied arms down to her side.
  She stomped back toward the house, and I sat there for a few torturous minutes with one hand pressing the towel against my nose and breathed deeply through my mouth. Even through the blood I could smell the flinty gunpowder from the bullet. Dad is going to kill me, I thought. He'll court-martial me and sentence me to death by firing squad. Before I could fully imagine the tragic end of my life I heard an ambulance wailing up the Norvelt road. It took a turn directly into Miss Volker's driveway and stopped.