conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a title for a book about Michael, Michael's, Reed with the genre: Literature & Fiction, United States
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Please Don't Come Back from the Moon'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first two paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Please Don't Come Back from the Moon
  SINCE I WAS HOME that afternoon, doing nothing, I went to Kolya's school and waited for him at the edge of the playground. I figured I could walk him home, give him one day without getting his ass kicked. When you're a boy, you figure out pretty quick that there's always going to be some asshole hanging around the schoolyard, waiting to kick your ass. I always had enemies, but most of them were too afraid of Nick to fuck with me. They hated me from a distance.
  Kolya looked happy to see me. His shiner had gone down some, and he was looking fresh-faced and innocent again. His backpack looked absolutely huge on him, and I pictured him as a soldier back from a mission. He had red jelly all over his lips.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Please Don't Come Back from the Moon
  SINCE I WAS HOME that afternoon, doing nothing, I went to Kolya's school and waited for him at the edge of the playground. I figured I could walk him home, give him one day without getting his ass kicked. When you're a boy, you figure out pretty quick that there's always going to be some asshole hanging around the schoolyard, waiting to kick your ass. I always had enemies, but most of them were too afraid of Nick to fuck with me. They hated me from a distance.
  Kolya looked happy to see me. His shiner had gone down some, and he was looking fresh-faced and innocent again. His backpack looked absolutely huge on him, and I pictured him as a soldier back from a mission.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I played the messages five or six times. That night, I could hardly sleep. I was so excited to get to work.
  Ella won the Hump Day Honey contest again that night. It was her fourth straight win. She wore a black bikini this time, and black knee-high boots. She smiled a bit more from the stage, and carried a black belt that she playfully snapped at the men hooting and hollering along the bar. She was starting to pack in the crowds. But as usual, right after she won and collected her $250, she threw on her jeans and sweatshirt and headed for the door as fast as she could.
  I followed her out into the parking lot. I caught up with her by her old white Dodge truck. She was fumbling with the lock. "You're becoming quite the champion," I said. It was a cold night and I was shivering.
  She got into her truck and started it, but not before I ran around the front end and hopped in the passenger seat.
  She started laughing. "You've given this some thought, huh? Why would you think that one customer in Maple Rock Mall would ever be interested in reading Dostoyevsky?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Perhaps you read this now and think of us as fools, consider us naïve for believing as long as we believed that you had gone to the moon, for believing that some day you'd come home.
  I OWE MANY THINGS to many people. Here goes. First of all, thanks to my editor, Becky Saletan, for her enthusiasm, intelligence, and vision, and to everybody at Harcourt who helped pull this together, including André Bernard, Stacia Decker, Laurie Brown, Jennifer Gilmore, Patty Berg, and Paul Von Drasek.
  Also to the good folks at the University of Wisconsin-Madison MFA program, who provided focus, funding, and their amazing instruction in the nick of time: Lorrie Moore, Coach Judy Mitchell, Ron Wallace, Jesse Lee Kercheval, and Amy Quan Barry. Also to the University of Michigan, where these people first gave the go sign: Nick Delbanco, Andrea Beauchamp, Daniel Lyons, Janet Mendier, and especially Charles "Pa" Baxter and Eileen "Ma" Pollack who were never too busy to offer encouragement and advice.
  Finally, to four people who have made all the difference: Elwood Reid, who showed me the light over and over again and taught me what work is; Mark Gates, sales rep extraordinaire, for generosity and friendship above and beyond the call; my agent and pal, Amy Williams, for her tenacity, wisdom, and patience; and finally to my wife, Amanda Okopski, for bringing creativity, wonder, passion, and joy to me on a daily basis.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Finally, to four people who have made all the difference: Elwood Reid, who showed me the light over and over again and taught me what work is; Mark Gates, sales rep extraordinaire, for generosity and friendship above and beyond the call; my agent and pal, Amy Williams, for her tenacity, wisdom, and patience; and finally to my wife, Amanda Okopski, for bringing creativity, wonder, passion, and joy to me on a daily basis.. Also to the University of Michigan, where these people first gave the go sign: Nick Delbanco, Andrea Beauchamp, Daniel Lyons, Janet Mendier, and especially Charles "Pa" Baxter and Eileen "Ma" Pollack who were never too busy to offer encouragement and advice.
  Also to the good folks at the University of Wisconsin-Madison MFA program, who provided focus, funding, and their amazing instruction in the nick of time: Lorrie Moore, Coach Judy Mitchell, Ron Wallace, Jesse Lee Kercheval, and Amy Quan Barry. First of all, thanks to my editor, Becky Saletan, for her enthusiasm, intelligence, and vision, and to everybody at Harcourt who helped pull this together, including André Bernard, Stacia Decker, Laurie Brown, Jennifer Gilmore, Patty Berg, and Paul Von Drasek. Here goes.
  I OWE MANY THINGS to many people.Perhaps you read this now and think of us as fools, consider us naïve for believing as long as we believed that you had gone to the moon, for believing that some day you'd come home