conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about BOOKE, HIDDEN, ROMANTIC with the genre: Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Booke of the Hidden'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first four paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Booke of the Hidden
  I didn't believe in ghosts or the supernatural...but that weird noise in the wall was testing my convictions.
  Pouring myself another glass of Chardonnay, I sipped and wandered around my soon-to-be-opened tea shop, fluffing a pillow here, adjusting a lamp there. I still had a long way to go, but I would be ready by Friday for my grand opening.
  Then my eye went toward an awkwardly smiling shelf. Warped and too unwieldy for my wares, it had to come down. I grabbed a crowbar from my toolbox, and with the crowbar in one hand and my wine glass in the other, I crossed to the shelf and took another hearty swig before setting the glass aside. Buoyed by the courage of several glasses of wine, I took up the crowbar again, and wedged the straight edge behind the warped wood. I yanked. Nothing. I yanked again, bracing my foot against the toe kick at the floor. Still nothing.
  I dusted myself off and rose, rubbing my bruised behind, and stared forlornly at all the ancient plaster strewn about the floor and the gaping maw that was once my wall. The lathe behind the plaster had even torn free, and a few choice words I had never spoken aloud rampaged through my head.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: It was my turn to smile. Sheriff Ed was handsome, broad-shouldered, and tall. I didn't yet know the quirks of his personality, but he seemed the opposite in just about every respect to my former boyfriend, the One-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.
  While I was admiring Sheriff Ed's dimple as he chewed, I felt a twinge of guilt. It was just last night that I had kissed Erasmus and harbored some mighty intricate fantasies about the man. Demon. He wasn't a man, not really. But this one was. A human man. And Erasmus had closed the door on anything that was poised to develop. And here was another opening up. It reminded me how lonely I had been the last two months.
  I brushed my hair back over my ear. "No, it wasn't just talk." I smiled. I was a little rusty at this but I knew it would come back to me. Like riding a bicycle.
  He cleaned his plate and turned down a second slice, but said yes to more coffee. I watched with widened eyes as he scooped more sugar in and drank that down, too. We talked for about half an hour, about the village and some of the personalities in it. He shook his head when I asked about the Wiccans. "Doc and his Wicca." His tone was cynical.
  Ed snorted. "Love thy neighbor," he muttered. "Look, don't get the wrong impression. I respect Doc. He's got a good head on his shoulders. And the others are nice enough. But I think that there are just some things people should not mess with. Things they don't fully understand."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: ". Sheriff Ed was handsome, broad-shouldered, and tall. I didn't yet know the quirks of his personality, but he seemed the opposite in just about every respect to my former boyfriend, the One-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.
  While I was admiring Sheriff Ed's dimple as he chewed, I felt a twinge of guilt. It was just last night that I had kissed Erasmus and harbored some mighty intricate fantasies about the man. Demon. He wasn't a man, not really. But this one was. A human man. And Erasmus had closed the door on anything that was poised to develop. And here was another opening up. It reminded me how lonely I had been the last two months.
  I brushed my hair back over my ear. "No, it wasn't just talk." I smiled. I was a little rusty at this but I knew it would come back to me. Like riding a bicycle.
  He cleaned his plate and turned down a second slice, but said yes to more coffee. I watched with widened eyes as he scooped more sugar in and drank that down, too. We talked for about half an hour, about the village and some of the personalities in it. He shook his head when I asked about the Wiccans. "Doc and his Wicca." His tone was cynical.
  Ed snorted. "Love thy neighbor," he muttered. "Look, don't get the wrong impression. I respect Doc. He's got a good head on his shoulders. And the others are nice enough. But I think that there are just some things people should not mess with. Things they don't fully understand.It was my turn to smile.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The tendrils reached for him again, but did not push harder than before. They seemed to want him to say it, not force it from his mind.
  He took a deep breath and bowed. "I have not failed in four thousand years, my lords. I shall not fail this time."
  The shimmering sound rose to a crescendo and then cascaded down all around him like sparks, dead once they touched the ground.
  Would you believe the plot and general idea for this series came to me in a dream? I'm not kidding. It was one of those serendipitous things. I dreamed of the Booke (which was amusingly called "The Big Book of the Occult" in my dream), Kylie, the demon, and the monsters beaten with a crossbow. The whole Magilla. When I awoke I lay there for while absorbing it. It was so entertaining, I immediately told my husband who was just getting up for work. He told me, "Write it down!"