conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first three paragraphs for a book with the title 'Some Kind of Fairy Tale'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Some Kind of Fairy Tale
  TM was brought to me by her brother when she had returned to the family fold after an unexplained absence of about twenty years. I was surprised when the brother, a burly alpha male of middle years, led in his sister, a slightly built thirty-six year-old woman who looked pathologically young for her age. At first glance one would have taken her for a teenager or someone in her early twenties. I've learned not to jump to conclusions but I instantly suspected a hormonal disturbance, or anorexia nervosa, or both.
  TM appeared wearing dark glasses, which she was always reluctant to remove, claiming to be extremely sensitive to light. I asked her if she had seen an optometrist, and she had not. Her medical records showed no history of eye problems and an appointment I subsequently made for her with an optometrist reported no abnormalities. Her supposed light sensitivity was part of her elaborate confabulation.
  Outwardly confident, she maintains steady eye contact and presents normally: no nervous fidgeting, no twitching nor tics, and very little physical leakage apart from occasionally winding her finger in her hair. Tells her story with alarming candor. Eye movement to upper left suggests remembering, not inventing on the spot, but she could have told her story many times and therefore be remembering previous inventions.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She told him again to open the front and back door and then briefed him to settle on the sofa and shut his mouth. She said that on her signal she wanted him to sound a lower E note, and to pluck it once every four beats.
  Tara watched the clock and on the stroke of twelve she pointed at him and he plucked the low E string. Tara squatted, putting her mouth near the foot of the fridge, and started to chant. It was a low, barely discernible chant, repeating phrases he couldn't make out; but he nevertheless did as instructed and kept time and plucked the string.
  After a few minutes Tara got up and, swaying in time to her own chanting, walked slowly around the kitchen. She made a motion that Richie should pluck harder, and he did.
  A slight breeze blew through the house, stirring the streams of incense. Tara walked toward the back door, beckoning to Richie that he should follow and that he should continue to pluck his string. He did as he was told and followed Tara out of the house. She led him to the front of the house, still chanting. Richie did a quick take to see if any of the neighbors could see them. He hoped he'd got away with it, and when Tara led him back into the house through the back door he followed. She closed the door behind him and motioned for him to return to the sofa. She continued to chant, swaying into the kitchen, occasionally squatting and putting her mouth near the foot of the fridge. After fifteen minutes her chanting became softer and softer until he couldn't hear her anymore.
  Richie looked at her quizzically. Then he laughed and his laughter completely seized him. "Haha! That's what I loved about you! You were always doing things like that. You were always full of shit like that!"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last two paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: All writing is an aggregate construction. This story has numerous antecedents, but the slippery nature of its truth is testified by the number of times it can mutate. Meanwhile my intention in prefacing the chapters with quotations is not to lay claim to parity of any kind but to hint at just some of those writers—living and dead—whose work champions the fusion of Realism and the Fantastic.
  I didn't quote but would also like to acknowledge the fine work of folklorist Anna Franklin and the splendid insights of critic and academic Gary K. Wolfe. All other permissions have been applied for.