conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Thea, Alex, Library with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Literature & Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'All You Never Wanted'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: All You Never Wanted
  Starting with. Move that supposedly priceless crystal vase into the kitchen. Check. Key-code-lock the door to the Ivory Room so nobody would decide to use it as the make-out room. Check. Unhook the Ming Dynasty sword hanging over the marble hall console and. Um. Stash it in the coat closet. Oof, heavy. But a good call. Plus I'd avoided the disaster of some wasted mofo swinging it around, looking to swordfight all takers on a twenty-dollar dare.
  As for the pale gold carpet runners? Not a heck of a lot I could do. Cross my fingers and pray. And while I was on my knees, I should also ask God to pleeeeze not let anyone sneak down into the wine cellar and get intimate with Arthur's Cabernets and Merlots.
  Mrs. Checkers lived in one of the older Round Hill Manor homes, tastefully structured to fit the landscape. On the topic of puke green, I bet she'd wanted to throw up a bit when she saw Camelot go up. Camelot was definitely one of those houses that snooty Greenwich people saw and mouthed "There goes the neighborhood" over their gin and tonics.
  Suddenly Mrs. Checkers looked up across the lawn to where I was watching her. In the next heartbeat of time, her body seemed to seize up on her. Her eyes rolling back to monster whites, her hands smashing flat over her ship's-prow chest. It was as if the whole thing was happening in slow motion. I watched unblinking as she rolled over and slumped boneless to the ground.
  Mute. Still. A mound of disco fabrics. Almost poetic. Like the final moment of some experimental dance recital, when you're not sure if it's really the end or if something has gone wrong.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: For a moment, they're back. Alex-and-Joshua. He's smiling down at her. Reminding her of when he'd been "Shady Sheriff." Unknown and mysterious and desirable.
  Later, she'd think to herself that she'd had a sixth sense about it. She'd been so frozen on that couch. As if waiting for it. Because she knows exactly what's happened when Joshua returns. Her phone cement-stuck in his hand and his face numb.
  Holding the phone over her reach, Joshua clicks for it. Scans the note and tosses the phone in her lap. Quickly she picks it up and reads:
  Her heartbeat floods her ears. The living room has become oppressive, a trap. " 'Miss you so bad,' " Joshua repeats. " 'Miss you so bad,' Alex. Want to let me in on it? What's Xander been missing? What've you been giving him that he's missing it 'so bad'?"
  It wrenches her how she can see boy-Joshua screwed up in his face. She'd never noticed it before, but in this moment he looks identical to his brother. Poor hungry little Buddy, forever creeping around the bowling alley, on the hustle for scraps of whatever—food, money, jokes, love. All those Gunners were raised on less of everything.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last three paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: This time, my sister's breath on my cheek reminds me that she's here, she's here, she's here... and I close my eyes without fear, knowing she's all I'll ever need.
  I'm also very lucky to get to be part of the incredible positive energy of Sarah Mlynowski and her writers' lounge. While so much of writing is a solitary process, a writing community, at its best, makes this profession not just worthwhile, but exuberant.
  Adele lives with her husband and young daughter in Brooklyn, New York. Please visit her on the Web at adelegriffin.com.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about shared, everything.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: This time, my sister's breath on my cheek reminds me that she's here, she's here, she's here... and I close my eyes without fear, knowing she's all I'll ever need. 
  I'm also very lucky to get to be part of the incredible positive energy of Sarah Mlynowski and her writers' lounge. To land there—with my laptop and a couple of dollars for the lunch pool—is also to find a haven, a generous source of shared ideas and strong opinions on everything from jacket images to pizza toppings. While so much of writing is a solitary process, a writing community, at its best, makes this profession not just worthwhile, but exuberant. 
  Adele lives with her husband and young daughter in Brooklyn, New York. Please visit her on the Web at adelegriffin. com.