conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a description for a book titled Cherries in Winter about Mars, Ive, High with the genre: Romance, Time Travel
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I was born in New York City during Millard Fillmores administration. At least, I feel like that sometimes. My Dad was a decorated ace in the Royal Air Force during the Battle of Britain, having received the Distinguished Flying Cross. I think thats where I got my love of aviation from. My Mom was a saint. Period. I soloed on Halloween, 1968, from the old Burnside-Ott Aviation Training Center at Opa-Locka Airport in Florida, graduating from North Miami Senior High that same year. I remember it was a beautiful little Cessna 150. Okay- it wasnt a Lear Jet. We cant have everything. Blue sky is blue sky. I graduated from Northern Arizona University, in Flagstaff, in 1974, having received a Bachelors degree in writing and a Masters in history. Flagstaff is the home of Lowell Observatory, where Percival Lowell did so much to further our understanding of Mars at the turn of the last century, and where Clyde Tombaugh discovered Pluto in 1930. Its also the home of the U.S. Geological Survey, who were the 1st to process the pictures of Mars, sent from the old Mariner missions in the 60s. I did great in college because I loved it. No brainer. Now I know why Northern Arizona is called Gods country. Visit it sometime! Ive climbed down to the bottom of the magnificent Grand Canyon (and yes, out again obviously) and still feel the aches and pains some 40 years later. I started writing seriously around 1978. Prior to that I suppose I wasnt serious shopping lists, addressing letters, hastily scribbled recipes, threatening notes to other car owners to get out of my parking space things like that. Since then, Ive written THE HEALER, plus 7 novels of science fiction, fantasy, and horror, and numerous short stories. Ive always been attracted to the weird and unexplainable. I suppose it all began when I first looked into a mirror. Im a great believer in UFOs, and detest the conspiracy of silence concerning them. I believe the future of space commercialization lies in private enterprise. As such, I also believe that Mars should be our top priority. And what will we find when we get there? Remnants of an ancient civilization. And of course the infamous Face on Mars. I did my Masters thesis on THE LOST CONTINENT OF ATLANTIS. I was going to write on THE SCIENTIFIC PROOF OF SANTA CLAUS, but I was afraid of getting a lump of coal in my stocking that Christmas.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about High, School, hated.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I was born in New York City during Millard Fillmores administration. At least, I feel like that sometimes. My Dad was a decorated ace in the Royal Air Force during the Battle of Britain, having received the Distinguished Flying Cross. I think thats where I got my love of aviation from. My Mom was a saint. Period. I soloed on Halloween, 1968, from the old Burnside-Ott Aviation Training Center at Opa-Locka Airport in Florida, graduating from North Miami Senior High that same year. I remember it was a beautiful little Cessna 150. Okay- it wasnt a Lear Jet. We cant have everything. Blue sky is blue sky. I graduated from Northern Arizona University, in Flagstaff, in 1974, having received a Bachelors degree in writing and a Masters in history. Flagstaff is the home of Lowell Observatory, where Percival Lowell did so much to further our understanding of Mars at the turn of the last century, and where Clyde Tombaugh discovered Pluto in 1930. Its also the home of the U. S. Geological Survey, who were the 1st to process the pictures of Mars, sent from the old Mariner missions in the 60s. I did awful in High School because I hated it. I did great in college because I loved it. No brainer. Now I know why Northern Arizona is called Gods country. Visit it sometime! Ive climbed down to the bottom of the magnificent Grand Canyon (and yes, out again obviously) and still feel the aches and pains some 40 years later. I started writing seriously around 1978. Prior to that I suppose I wasnt serious shopping lists, addressing letters, hastily scribbled recipes, threatening notes to other car owners to get out of my parking space things like that. Since then, Ive written THE HEALER, plus 7 novels of science fiction, fantasy, and horror, and numerous short stories. Ive always been attracted to the weird and unexplainable. I suppose it all began when I first looked into a mirror. Im a great believer in UFOs, and detest the conspiracy of silence concerning them. I believe the future of space commercialization lies in private enterprise. As such, I also believe that Mars should be our top priority. And what will we find when we get there? Remnants of an ancient civilization. And of course the infamous Face on Mars. I did my Masters thesis on THE LOST CONTINENT OF ATLANTIS. I was going to write on THE SCIENTIFIC PROOF OF SANTA CLAUS, but I was afraid of getting a lump of coal in my stocking that Christmas.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first paragraph for this book
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Cherries in Winter
  Even when Grandpa started selling milk, butter, and eggs to the local distributor, it didn't bring in as much as it cost to run the farm. "Our neighbor, Truman, sold his butter and eggs as specialty items to the hotels in town, so he got more money for them," Mom remembers. "He'd been farming longer, so he had more crops. And in addition to that, he bred collies to make extra money. Your grandpa just didn't know how to do these things, and it was rough up there. Nana had to figure out every way she could to save money."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: four more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Matilde sighed. Her husband's word was law in his home, but tonight she was unrepentant. She ground a little cinnamon on the mashed apples and said, "We have this."
  After that, Matilda shared them with her daughter, Carolyn, who understood the importance of a dark red cherry in the middle of winter: the snap of the skin, the tart juice tasting of summers past and the summer to come.
  At the time, Matilda was working in the heart of Columbus Circle at the Coliseum convention center—her business cards, which were pink, read MATILDA E. KALLAHER, ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT FOR SALES. Carolyn had just started modeling, and she occasionally worked at Coliseum expos like the auto show. Matilda's boss would look at the teenaged blend of Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly and say, "Mrs. K., your daughter should be in college, not draped over a car." But Matilda was convinced that Carolyn was going to be a big star.
  Carolyn herself wasn't that hot on modeling, especially after a fortune-teller at one of the Coliseum shows said she was going to die on a photo shoot in Africa at the age of thirty-two. Matilda waved it away. "Just don't go to Africa."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Matilde sighed. Her husband's word was law in his home, but tonight she was unrepentant. She ground a little cinnamon on the mashed apples and said, "We have this."
  After that, Matilda shared them with her daughter, Carolyn, who understood the importance of a dark red cherry in the middle of winter: the snap of the skin, the tart juice tasting of summers past and the summer to come.
  At the time, Matilda was working in the heart of Columbus Circle at the Coliseum convention center—her business cards, which were pink, read MATILDA E. KALLAHER, ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT FOR SALES. Carolyn had just started modeling, and she occasionally worked at Coliseum expos like the auto show. Matilda's boss would look at the teenaged blend of Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly and say, "Mrs. K., your daughter should be in college, not draped over a car." But Matilda was convinced that Carolyn was going to be a big star.
  Carolyn herself wasn't that hot on modeling, especially after a fortune-teller at one of the Coliseum shows said she was going to die on a photo shoot in Africa at the age of thirty-two. Matilda waved it away. "Just don't go to Africa.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last five paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Amy Gross, Susan Reed, Deborah Way, Cathleen Medwick, Sudie Redmond, Celia Barbour, and all my editor-teachers at "Harvard." You made me a better writer, and I try to imagine you over my shoulders every time I write. It's a little intimidating, but it works.
  Mary Ann Naples and Debra Goldstein, the right agents at the right time, and to everyone at The Creative Culture and DiFiore. I dreamed big; you dreamed huge. Because of that, we all made this happen. Thank you for being among my biggest supporters and peppiest cheerleaders.
  My Random House family: Bill Thomas, Kris Puopolo, Alison Rich, Todd Doughty, Lauren Lavelle, Jillian Wohlfarth, Russell Perreault, Andrea Robinson, Dan Ozzi, Emily Mahon, Katya Mezhibovskaya, and everyone who took such great care of this nervous little cookie-baking writer.
  Our wonderful longtime friends Chris Moore and Charles Cermele, the Ricardos to our Mertzes; Donna Herman, maker of the greatest brisket I've ever overeaten and owner of the most generous heart I know; Susannah Harte for her seemingly endless patience and spiritual generosity; Jason Arbuckle and Mark Arena, our most swellegant pals.
  To Sylvia Boorstein, Julia Cameron, Rolf Gates, Natalie Goldberg, and Sharon Salzberg, for putting answers to big questions in simple, beautiful words.