conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled PECKED TO DEATH BY DUCKS about Wolverine, Eating, Leg with the genre: Reference, Writing, Research & Publishing Guides.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: the author is the author of seven books, including A Wolverine Is Eating My Leg, Jaguars Ripped My Flesh, Pass the Butterworms and Hold the Enlightenment. He is editor at large for Outside magazine, and his work appears in National Geographic Adventurer, The New York Times Book Review, and other national publications. He lives in Montana.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: PECKED TO DEATH BY DUCKS
  That evening Tom stopped at my house and asked if I wanted to join him the next day. He was going back armed with his longest lenses. He swore that he was not about to take any chances to get good shots.
  Last year, in Glacier Park, a grizzly killed a photographer who was said to love the bears, to know their habits. Tom had seen the shots.
  We parked by the side of the road and began walking toward the grizzly. The valley floor was a rolling, treeless plain, punctuated by stands of sage. At one point, three miles in—two miles from the bear—we saw several ravens perched on a ridge ahead of us. Tom thought they might be attracted to some carrion below but were afraid to approach it. He thought the birds on the ridge might mean there was a bear below, feeding on something. We saw a few bison, grazing peacefully, but there, not too far away, was some grizzly dung.
  Tom broke the scat apart with his boot. It was soft and very black. "He's been eating meat," Tom said.
  He handed me the quill, and I stood there with the white needle in my hand, and it scared me just about as badly as anything I'd ever heard or read about grizzly bears, ever. I couldn't imagine any animal—even a grizzly bear—eating a porcupine, quills and all. We walked down a hill and across a marsh that was full of meandering streams and land that moved like stiffened gelatin under the boot. There was a ridge ahead of us, and the bear, if he was there, was on the other side. The wind was brisk, and it came out of the southwest. We crawled to the top of the ridge—on the northeast, downwind side.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about belly-crawled, peeked.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: PECKED TO DEATH BY DUCKS
  That evening Tom stopped at my house and asked if I wanted to join him the next day. He was going back armed with his longest lenses. He swore that he was not about to take any chances to get good shots. 
  Last year, in Glacier Park, a grizzly killed a photographer who was said to love the bears, to know their habits. Tom had seen the shots. 
  We parked by the side of the road and began walking toward the grizzly. The valley floor was a rolling, treeless plain, punctuated by stands of sage. At one point, three miles in—two miles from the bear—we saw several ravens perched on a ridge ahead of us. Tom thought they might be attracted to some carrion below but were afraid to approach it. He thought the birds on the ridge might mean there was a bear below, feeding on something. We belly-crawled to the top and peeked over. We saw a few bison, grazing peacefully, but there, not too far away, was some grizzly dung. 
  Tom broke the scat apart with his boot. It was soft and very black. "He's been eating meat," Tom said. 
  He handed me the quill, and I stood there with the white needle in my hand, and it scared me just about as badly as anything I'd ever heard or read about grizzly bears, ever. I couldn't imagine any animal—even a grizzly bear—eating a porcupine, quills and all. We walked down a hill and across a marsh that was full of meandering streams and land that moved like stiffened gelatin under the boot. There was a ridge ahead of us, and the bear, if he was there, was on the other side. The wind was brisk, and it came out of the southwest. We crawled to the top of the ridge—on the northeast, downwind side.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: There were, it seemed, some people on the island who would knit hats or scarfs with synthetic material. They might even use artificial dyes to color the products and sell them to tourists like myself. Alejandro thought tourists could buy such things anywhere.
  People had such short sight. There was television everywhere in the world, Alejandro said. Why would people need it here? Or loud music. It was a quiet island, very traditional, and it should be kept that way. When the political men came to organize the island, Alejandro asked them, "And where do you stand on natural color?" The men had no answer. They knew nothing of Taquile. The people asked political organizers to go away.
  All the young men of his island, he said, want to visit Lima, if only for a few days. For the men of Taquile, Lima is a kind of Disneyland of danger and violence, of strange, gratuitous wonders.
  Lima. The air there, in that great city, was very thick and very dirty. Still, the bright-colored lights glittered at night, because there was electricity everywhere.
  One day, during his visit to Lima, a strange-looking foreign man stopped Alejandro on the street. He was very excited about something, and Alejandro thought perhaps this tall, thin man was crazy or drunk. No, the man said, please don't go. Please, sir, the man said, just allow me to ask a few questions. Where had Alejandro gotten the wool to weave his belt?
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: As he traverses Turkey in search of exotic splendor recorded by nineteenth-century romanticists, Eric Lawlor finds instead a modern, professional, sometimes brutal land, with unexpected remnants of the old Turkey to be encountered along the way.
  A remarkable woman's exquisitely clear-sighted memoir of growing up Australian: from the vastness of a sheep station in the outback to the stifling propriety of postwar Sydney; from untutored childhood to a life in academia; and from the shelter of a protective family to the lessons of independence and tragedy.
  In this delightful and generous anthology, women such as Beryl Markham, Willa Cather, Annie Dillard, and Joan Didion share their experiences traveling throughout the world. From the Rocky Mountains to a Marrakech palace, in voices wry, lyrical, and sometimes wistful, these women show as much of themselves as they do of the strange and wonderful places they visit.
  The critically acclaimed and bestselling adventures of a young American martial arts master in China. "Dazzling... exhilarating... a joy to read from beginning to end."
  A moving memoir of an American woman's difficult and gradual acceptance into the daily life of a rural West African community.