conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled The Gaslight Dogs about Award, Canada, em>Warchild with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: the author was born in Guyana, South America and moved to Toronto, Canada when she was two. Before her foray into fantasy, she wrote three highly-acclaimed science fiction novels - <em>Warchild, Burndive</em>, and <em>Cagebird</em>. <em>Warchild </em>won the Warner Aspect First Novel Award and <em>Cagebird</em> won the 2006 Gaylactic Spectrum Award and the Prix Aurora Award and was a finalist for the 2002 Philip K. Dick Award. She currently resides in Ontario, Canada.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Gaslight Dogs
  Yes, I've been writing stories in some form or another since kindergarten and began to think about doing it as a career around grade 5 or 6. In high school I became more conscious of it, and by university it was definitely a goal I was driven to attain. Looking back on it, writing is the only thing that I can remember doing my entire life, consistently and without need of outside encouragement. I've always loved writing, and it's the only thing I can sweat blood over without too much complaint. I have many different interests, but writing is my passion. It's the endeavor that encourages my education, exploration, and edification all in one.
  Working among the Inuit of Nunavut influenced me pretty directly. I knew that I wanted to highlight some aspects of what is a great and unique culture that many people are not all that familiar with, but throw my own spin into it as well. There are differences (the Inuit don't have spiritual Dog ancestors, but I developed that idea in order to flesh out the plot of the novel with regard to the Pangani Nation tribes and the Church of the Seven Deities), and I'm conscious of the fact that I'm not Inuit so if I incorporate a specific culture like that into my writing I have to be equally conscious of what changes I make and why. Sjenn specifically was born out of some amalgamation of the Inuit women I'd read about and met when I was in the north, but she is definitely not fashioned after anyone specific. My imagination tends to flesh out all aspects of my writing, and that's part of the reason I love writing speculative fiction.
  The reasons the Sairland-descendent Ciracusans are there are different from what went on in our world (they weren't really off to discover a New World with the intention of conquering or finding riches or any of that), so in a way I've whittled things down a little with regard to Jarrett's people, anyway. I think that violence to some extent is probably inevitable when you have cultures with such a marked difference in technology level, as well as ideals and beliefs. Throw in politics and a few people with ambitions for power and any group of people would find it hard-pressed to live peacefully. If the people are like the Aniw (or the Inuit) and not inherently violent in their day-to-day with each other, then those powers can take advantage of them (like through a forced relocation or cultural infringement), which is in itself another form of violence. I wanted to write Sjenn's story partly because it's a tragedy that's happened too many times in our own world and it can never be examined enough.
  The west wind died, broken on the Dragons' sharp peaks, and the jungle's hot breath wafted from the shore. Rank with brine and bilge, sewers draining into the sea, but under the port-reek the air smelled of spices and the green tang of Sivahra's forests rising beyond the marshy delta of the Mir. Mountains flanked the capital city Symir, uneven green sentinels on either side of the river. So unlike the harsh and rocky shores of Selafai they had left behind two and a half decads ago.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Gaslight Dogs
  Yes, I've been writing stories in some form or another since kindergarten and began to think about doing it as a career around grade 5 or 6. In high school I became more conscious of it, and by university it was definitely a goal I was driven to attain. Looking back on it, writing is the only thing that I can remember doing my entire life, consistently and without need of outside encouragement. I've always loved writing, and it's the only thing I can sweat blood over without too much complaint. I have many different interests, but writing is my passion. It's the endeavor that encourages my education, exploration, and edification all in one.
  Working among the Inuit of Nunavut influenced me pretty directly. I knew that I wanted to highlight some aspects of what is a great and unique culture that many people are not all that familiar with, but throw my own spin into it as well. There are differences (the Inuit don't have spiritual Dog ancestors, but I developed that idea in order to flesh out the plot of the novel with regard to the Pangani Nation tribes and the Church of the Seven Deities), and I'm conscious of the fact that I'm not Inuit so if I incorporate a specific culture like that into my writing I have to be equally conscious of what changes I make and why. Sjenn specifically was born out of some amalgamation of the Inuit women I'd read about and met when I was in the north, but she is definitely not fashioned after anyone specific. My imagination tends to flesh out all aspects of my writing, and that's part of the reason I love writing speculative fiction.
  The reasons the Sairland-descendent Ciracusans are there are different from what went on in our world (they weren't really off to discover a New World with the intention of conquering or finding riches or any of that), so in a way I've whittled things down a little with regard to Jarrett's people, anyway. I think that violence to some extent is probably inevitable when you have cultures with such a marked difference in technology level, as well as ideals and beliefs. Throw in politics and a few people with ambitions for power and any group of people would find it hard-pressed to live peacefully. If the people are like the Aniw (or the Inuit) and not inherently violent in their day-to-day with each other, then those powers can take advantage of them (like through a forced relocation or cultural infringement), which is in itself another form of violence. I wanted to write Sjenn's story partly because it's a tragedy that's happened too many times in our own world and it can never be examined enough.
  The west wind died, broken on the Dragons' sharp peaks, and the jungle's hot breath wafted from the shore. Rank with brine and bilge, sewers draining into the sea, but under the port-reek the air smelled of spices and the green tang of Sivahra's forests rising beyond the marshy delta of the Mir. Mountains flanked the capital city Symir, uneven green sentinels on either side of the river.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Isyllt turned back to the city, scanning the ships at dock. She was surprised not to see more Imperial colors flying. After rumors of rebellion and worries of war, she'd expected Imperial warships, but there was no sign of the Emperor's army—although that didn't mean it wasn't there.
  Something was happening, though; a crowd gathered on the docks, and Isyllt caught flashes of red and green uniforms amid the blur of bodies. Shouts and angry voices carried over the water, but she couldn't make out the words.
  Finally the ship's mate led two of the inspectors below, and the woman in the red sash turned to Isyllt, a wax tablet and stylus in her hand. A Sivahri, darker skinned than Xinai but with the same creaseless black eyes; elaborate henna designs covered her hands. Isyllt was relieved to be greeted in Assari—Xinai had tutored her in the native language during the voyage, but she was still far from fluent.
  The woman glanced curiously at Xinai; the mercenary gave no more response than a statue. The official opened the tube and unrolled the parchment, recorded something on her tablet. "And your business in Symir?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Sunlight spilled like honey over their shoulders, gilding the water and gleaming on domes and tilting spires. Buildings crowded together, walls of cream and ocher stone, pale blues and dusty pinks, balconies nearly touching over narrow alleys and waterways. Bronze chimes flashed from eaves and lintels. Vines trailed from rooftop gardens, dripping leaves and orange blossoms onto the water. Birds perched in potted trees and on steep green- and gray-tiled roofs.
  Invaders the Assari might be, but they had built a beautiful city. Isyllt tried to imagine the sky dark with smoke, the water running red. The city would be less lovely if her mission succeeded.
  She'd heard stories from other agents of how the job crept into everything, reduced buildings and cities to exits and escape routes, defenses and weaknesses to be exploited. Till you couldn't look at anything—or anyone—without imagining how to infiltrate or corrupt or overthrow. She wondered how long it would take to happen to her. If she would even notice when it did.
  Anhai followed Isyllt's gaze to the water level—slime crusted the stone several feet above the surface of the canal. "The rains will come soon and the river will rise. You're in time for the Dance of Masks."
  The skiff drew up against a set of stairs and the oarsmen secured the boat and helped Adam and Xinai unload the luggage. A tall building rose above them, decorated with Selafaïn pillars. A carven phoenix spread its wings over the doors and polished horn panes gleamed ruddy in the dying light.