conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a story titled Friends Like These about Research, Nat with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Research has taken geologist and college professor the author on adventures around the world. From mapping lonely deserts and crossing arctic tundra to exploring ancient ruins and studying erupting volcanoes, Nat has found inspiration for stories in many unique places.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a story titled Friends Like These about Recently, grown-up, Something's with the genre: Reference, Writing, Research & Publishing Guides.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: the author is about to turn thirty and his life has become a cliche. Recently married and living in a smart new area of town, he's swapped pints down the pub for lattes and brunch. For the first time in his life, he's feeling, well...grown-up. But something's not right. Something's missing. Until he finds an old address story containing just twelve names. His best mates as a kid. Where are they now? Who are they now? And how are they coping with being grown-up too? And so begins a journey from A-Z, tracking down and meeting his old gang. He travels from Berlin to Tokyo, from Sydney to LA. He even goes to Loughborough. He meets Fijian chiefs. German rappers. Some ninjas. And a carvery manager who's managed to solve time travel. But how will they respond to a man they haven't seen in twenty years, turning up and asking if they're coming out to play? Part-comedy, part-travelogue, part-memoir, Friends Like These is the story of what can happen when you track down your past, and of where the friendships you thought you'd outgrown can take you today...
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this story.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Friends Like These
  Instead, he mentioned Lucian Freud. She laughed, swatted him with a pillow and teased that the reference to all that unbridled, painterly flesh was some kind of insult. But she knew that he was telling her he was truly seeing her. Glorious. Overwhelming. In all her lush and desirable femininity. He was lost in her. Sometimes even beyond her, to a place she couldn't reach. But she was a wise woman, not an inexperienced girl, and knew he'd come back, in his own time. She understood all that.
  Michael told Jo that he had finally found an inspiration, a muse, for his erotic imaginings and Jo believed him. She'd never been surer of anything in her life. She knew that if she told the story of their passion in the light of day it would read as captions to pictures in a museum pamphlet—but that's not the way it was.
  For her own part, Jo could not imagine any artist could do justice to the man lying between her sheets. No-one could capture the smell of him. The feel of his skin under her fingers. The warmth of his breath. The sound of his shuddering groans when she kissed down his stomach.
  And no work of art—no marble bust, no granite, bronze or stone statue, no ink, oil, lead or charcoal rendering of king, warrior or beautiful boy in any of the galleries in the world since antiquity—could arouse her the way he did.
  When Jo woke she could smell coffee and toast. On the table in her courtyard Michael had laid out breakfast— sliced peach and apple, the sugar bowl, milk in a jug, and he'd even found the jam and marmalade.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me three more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: They headed back to the gathering and stood glumly at the back of the room as JJ Blanchard—philanthropist, humanitarian, raconteur and humble businessman—took the floor to say a few words about the various challenges facing modern Australia.
  They edged their way along behind the crowd and headed for a white stone staircase. A young man wearing a suit and tie barred the way.
  They skipped up the stairs and then trawled through densely carpeted corridors and grasped crystal doorknobs to explore empty rooms. Carol's taste, as they had expected, was execrable.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Eunice stood at the sturdy railings and spoke her words out across the bare front yard. 'I wasn't a greedy, vain thing, Augusta. Not like some of the fine women I saw at the college. The ones that pursued me and saw me off.'
  Augusta poured lemon cordial from the jug and offered her sister a glass. Eunice sipped from it, sat quietly and watched as the last of the reflections on the water disappeared and the harbour turned to black.
  Humble thanks to my dear friend and mentor at A&U, Richard Walsh, for his steadfastness, Latin translations and reviving fish lunches when I had lost my way. His patience was mightily tested at times and his support, as ever, unwavering.
  Also, many thanks to all at HLA, my home now for some twenty-five years, and to Hilary Linstead, who always believes in me.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: 'I wasn't a greedy, vain thing, Augusta. Not like some of the fine women I saw at the college. The ones that pursued me and saw me off.'
  Augusta poured lemon cordial from the jug and offered her sister a glass. Eunice sipped from it, sat quietly and watched as the last of the reflections on the water disappeared and the harbour turned to black.
  Humble thanks to my dear friend and mentor at A&U, Richard Walsh, for his steadfastness, Latin translations and reviving fish lunches when I had lost my way. His patience was mightily tested at times and his support, as ever, unwavering.
  Also, many thanks to all at HLA, my home now for some twenty-five years, and to Hilary Linstead, who always believes in me.