conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Blue, Blue's, Steve with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Literature & Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Devil and the Bluebird'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first four paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Devil and the Bluebird
  The guitar rested against her back the way her mother's hand had when she was small and afraid. She pulled her fingers into the sleeves of her canvas barn coat, searching for warmth there. Above her, the stars burned cold; everything else was black and silent. No moon out to keep her company, to turn the dust of the crossroads silver where it speckled her hiking boots.
  She shivered. She didn't know how long to wait, or whether waiting would even work. Old stories meant nothing or everything, depending on whom you asked. Her mother would have said that a story could change anything—the world, time, the future—but stories hadn't changed her mother's cancer. Hadn't changed the way she'd been eaten up from the inside, only a husk left by the end.
  A breeze sprang up, tugging at her hair, and she tucked her chin into her collar. Clouds stretched like fingers across the stars, shuttering their lights one by one. She held up one hand. Her fingers showed as just one more shade of dark. She reached into her pocket for her phone to check the time.
  She fumbled for the switch on her flashlight. The light sputtered, then dimmed; and she hit it hard. For a moment, it caught, cast a stark white light across the dirt road. A woman stood before her, tall and long-limbed, in a red dress that dripped off her hips and blew loose around her calves. Her straight black hair blew as well, a rippling veil around her face. Eyes so dark they disappeared into the night; bare feet; a pair of red high heels dangling from one hand. No sign the cold bothered her at all.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Then there was a dull thud, like a down pillow swung hard. Rat's hands loosened and she drew an agonized breath. Another thud, and he rolled off. Blue looked up and saw one of her boots swing past to catch Rat in the ribs. Her boot on Steve's foot.
  It hurt to breathe, but she sucked in great lungfuls of air anyway. Another thud sounded, only this time it was mixed with the splintery crack of green wood. Rat gave a gasp, as much pain as air in it.
  She looked over. Rat lay curled on the floor. Steve stood next to him, staring down in disgust. Not at Rat. At his own feet in her boots, and at the dark spots that spattered them. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
  Rat shifted slightly. The blood on his face distracted her from what she should have seen: his hand curling around the chain beside him. By the time she noticed, it was already too late.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Rat's hands loosened and she drew an agonized breath. Another thud, and he rolled off. Blue looked up and saw one of her boots swing past to catch Rat in the ribs. Her boot on Steve's foot.
  It hurt to breathe, but she sucked in great lungfuls of air anyway. Another thud sounded, only this time it was mixed with the splintery crack of green wood. Rat gave a gasp, as much pain as air in it.
  She looked over. Rat lay curled on the floor. Steve stood next to him, staring down in disgust. Not at Rat. At his own feet in her boots, and at the dark spots that spattered them. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
  Rat shifted slightly. The blood on his face distracted her from what she should have seen: his hand curling around the chain beside him. By the time she noticed, it was already too late.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last three paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: While it is possible to write without ever interacting with another human, the road toward publication is one best traveled with friends. I am deeply indebted to Christine, who reads with heart and mind and challenges me to write for both; to Abigail, who understands that there is dark and light in all journeys; to Nancy, without whom I might still be writing stories in secret; and to Jenna, who has listened and supported endlessly.
  I know of no words graceful and strong enough to explain what my children, Daniel and Acadia, mean to me as a writer or a mom. Without them, my stories and my life would be so much less.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about Hilary, Stone, Pony.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: While it is possible to write without ever interacting with another human, the road toward publication is one best traveled with friends. I am deeply indebted to Christine, who reads with heart and mind and challenges me to write for both; to Abigail, who understands that there is dark and light in all journeys; to Nancy, without whom I might still be writing stories in secret; and to Jenna, who has listened and supported endlessly. 
  To Hilary and Stone Pony Farm, my gratitude for quiet space and a warm woodstove and the smell of horses and hay. 
  I know of no words graceful and strong enough to explain what my children, Daniel and Acadia, mean to me as a writer or a mom. Without them, my stories and my life would be so much less.