conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled Unlikely Angel about I'm, People, aren't with the genre: Romance, Romantic Suspense.. Start with the sentence 'I'm an optimist whose rose-colored glasses have bent frames and cracked lenses'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I'm an optimist whose rose-colored glasses have bent frames and cracked lenses. When life kicks me in the teeth, I find miracles and lessons I refused to learn an easier way. In fact, I live with a small herd of miracles in the furry forms of dogs, who are constantly trying to teach me to forgive, to play more, and to love without limits. I write about people who find courage and integrity in the darkest times of their lives, who rescue stray dogs and kittens, who find a person they would willingly give their lives for, and who make their little corners of the world a better place. People have remarked my stories "aren't what they expected." With rose-colored glasses firmly in place, I take that as a compliment. I invite you to share a piece of my world in the pages of a book, and hope you find some surprises, some tears, some laughter, and always a happy ending.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first three paragraphs for this book.. Start with the sentence 'Unlikely Angel
  Superior Court Judge Rowland W'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Unlikely Angel
  Superior Court Judge Rowland W. Barnes, 64, was serving his seventh year on the Fulton County bench at the time of his murder. He died in his courtroom shortly before the Brian Nichols trial was scheduled to begin. Widely regarded as one of the most beloved figures in county government, Barnes was often described as jovial, fair, and warmhearted. A graduate of Emory University Law School in Atlanta and a native of Wyoming, Judge Barnes left behind a loving wife, Claudia, two daughters, and four stepchildren. His daughter Kiley, 26, plans to become a lawyer and continue her father's legacy.
  Court reporter Julie Ann Brandau, 46, was a dedicated "Guardian of the Record," the title court reporters across the nation sometimes give themselves as they work long hours to transcribe everything said in a courtroom. However, she always found time to bake pound cakes, peach bread, or cookies for juries during trials. A native of Moncks Corner, South Carolina, and the youngest of three girls, Brandau had been the court reporter for Judge Barnes since 1998, when he was appointed to the bench; she had worked for more than twenty years in the Fulton County courts. Loved by colleagues and friends alike, she and her college-age daughter, Christina, enjoyed travel and took trips to Hawaii and Costa Rica.
  Deputy Sergeant Hoyt—known to family and friends as Keith—Teasley, 43, was recognized, even as a boy, for his protective instinct. He once went off on his bike to help search for a missing neighbor; and when a firecracker exploded at a family gathering, he threw himself over his sister to cover her. Teasley also was considered a great neighbor —a friendly and quiet person who would offer to help others with their yard work. An Atlanta native, Teasley served with the Georgia Air National Guard, and he joined the Fulton County Sheriff's Department in 1986. He is survived by his wife, Deborah, and his young daughters, DeKeisha and Deona.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I walked into the kitchen, passing the fridge on my right, and went directly across the room to the cabinets just to the right of the stove. I kept dry things like chips, cereal bars, bread, and pasta in there.
  Mostly what I had on the shelves were canned goods and boxed items. I had some cookies, but I didn't have many other snacks—at least, not fattening stuff—because I was always feeling chubby and battling my weight. In my world right then, anything more than 120 pounds was chubby. And since I wasn't doing ice all that much—on ice I could go days and hardly eat and not even notice—keeping the pounds off was harder.
  I thought back to high school and all the exercising I did to stay skinny. How on earth did I do that? There was the half hour of aerobics I did in my room before school; the time after school in the gym with Uncle David or, if it was basketball season, at practice; then the two miles I would run up and down the hills in our neighborhood every night after cooking dinner and cleaning up. I hated it, the whole battle against my weight, but I couldn't break out of it. Even now I was in it. Just a couple of weeks ago I had called that guy I knew to bring me some ice so I could drop a few pounds. "Just let him be there this one time," I had prayed—that awful thing I did with God. It was horrible, that back and forth. Thank you, God. Thank you that I'm done with that junk now and all of that is over.
  As Brian Nichols stood there looking in my kitchen cabinet, I glanced over at the microwave sitting on the counter to my right. The clock read 3:30. 3:30? So we've only been in here for an hour and a half? That can't be right. I'd burned enough energy in that amount of time to last me for days. If it was 3:30, then I had six more hours with this guy before I left to go see Paige. Wow. That's a freakin' eternity. But I was going to see Paige. It was happening. I had to keep picturing it. I looked to the left of the microwave at a framed black-and-white photograph of Paige standing on the beach. See, Ashley, it's a good thing you unpacked everything and obsessed over putting things where they're supposed to be, or Paige wouldn't be all over this apartment for this guy to see right now.
  I started thinking back over the day I had just had on Friday. I had missed my devotion that morning —how had that happened? Let's see. I had snorted ice late Thursday afternoon and stayed up moving and unpacking until dawn. Then, after I finally fell asleep early Friday morning, my step-dad called and woke me up before lunch, talking about the guy standing here in my kitchen right now. That's insane. Just nuts that this is happening. And then I jumped into my day. I went to work at the restaurant. And I forgot to do my devotion—the first time I had missed since February 7, when I put that dollar bill in the offering at Aunt Kim's church for my copy of The Purpose-Driven Life.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I kept dry things like chips, cereal bars, bread, and pasta in there.
  Mostly what I had on the shelves were canned goods and boxed items. I had some cookies, but I didn't have many other snacks—at least, not fattening stuff—because I was always feeling chubby and battling my weight. In my world right then, anything more than 120 pounds was chubby. And since I wasn't doing ice all that much—on ice I could go days and hardly eat and not even notice—keeping the pounds off was harder.
  I thought back to high school and all the exercising I did to stay skinny. How on earth did I do that? There was the half hour of aerobics I did in my room before school; the time after school in the gym with Uncle David or, if it was basketball season, at practice; then the two miles I would run up and down the hills in our neighborhood every night after cooking dinner and cleaning up. I hated it, the whole battle against my weight, but I couldn't break out of it. Even now I was in it. Just a couple of weeks ago I had called that guy I knew to bring me some ice so I could drop a few pounds. "Just let him be there this one time," I had prayed—that awful thing I did with God. It was horrible, that back and forth. Thank you, God. Thank you that I'm done with that junk now and all of that is over.
  As Brian Nichols stood there looking in my kitchen cabinet, I glanced over at the microwave sitting on the counter to my right. The clock read 3:30. 3:30? So we've only been in here for an hour and a half? That can't be right. I'd burned enough energy in that amount of time to last me for days. If it was 3:30, then I had six more hours with this guy before I left to go see Paige. Wow. That's a freakin' eternity. But I was going to see Paige. It was happening. I had to keep picturing it. I looked to the left of the microwave at a framed black-and-white photograph of Paige standing on the beach. See, Ashley, it's a good thing you unpacked everything and obsessed over putting things where they're supposed to be, or Paige wouldn't be all over this apartment for this guy to see right now.
  I started thinking back over the day I had just had on Friday. I had missed my devotion that morning —how had that happened? Let's see. I had snorted ice late Thursday afternoon and stayed up moving and unpacking until dawn. Then, after I finally fell asleep early Friday morning, my step-dad called and woke me up before lunch, talking about the guy standing here in my kitchen right now. That's insane. Just nuts that this is happening. And then I jumped into my day. I went to work at the restaurant. And I forgot to do my devotion—the first time I had missed since February 7, when I put that dollar bill in the offering at Aunt Kim's church for my copy of The Purpose-Driven Life.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Aunt Kim and me, May 2005. Paige's end-of-the-year school program—the first one I attended at her new school. It was so special to me.
  Left: Reconnecting with my little girl. Paige and me one recent Sunday after church. This is how we live every day now—side by side.
  Me with my brother Christian at our family reunion, June 2005 (below). The first picture I've taken with him in six years. Just a sign of my isolation. Sad.
  My sister Leah and me at her birthday party, June 2005. She wanted lots of photos taken. A happy time.
  March 24, 2005. With Georgia Governor Sonny Perdue at the Georgia capitol. I was humbled to be honored by him and the other officials. My life truly is a testimony that miracles do happen.