conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about University, BONNIE, MORRIS with the genre: Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender Books, Science Fiction & Fantasy?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Sappho's Bar and Grill'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Sappho's Bar and Grill
  There was silence after that. Then someone said, "There's gaydar for you, in 1918." Another voice called, "Valour." The close-packed audience buzzed and wept. Some applauded. And Hannah saw one older woman fingering a medal on her breast. The red poppy.
  It was too much. No birthday had ever been better. She mentally ranged through hideous or merely disappointing birthdays from age three upward, a catastrophe of humiliating images, some appallingly recent. The time she'd thrown up on the classmate she'd expected to seduce. The time her date broke up with her and left her by the side of the road with no underwear. The carrot cake that made everyone sick. The guest who wanted all of Hannah's friends to boycott the hotel where they were heading to dance. The old boyfriend who showed up, stoned on Ecstasy. The fire in the kitchen stove that sent two terrified mice blundering over her mother's legs. This made up for it all. How had Isabel pulled it off? Why was she being so good to Hannah?
  Embarrassed by her own display of emotion, Hannah pushed through the applauding dykes to the rear of the bar, fervently hoping for a bathroom stall in which to blow her nose and compose herself. Another Radclyffe Hall lookalike smiled and nodded to her as Hannah barreled into the loo and, observing Hannah's crimson face, extended a perfectly starched handkerchief from a blazer pocket. "Here, Miss."
  The Radclyffe, amused, reached into another pocket and brought out a handful of coins Hannah had never seen before. Seeing her confusion, the handsome woman said "An American, is it? That's a ha'penny, that's a tuppence, that's threepence."
  It was unmistakable. It was Hannah's handwriting. It still bore the creases from being rolled like a joint and shoved through a slender tomb keyhole.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Sappho's Bar and Grill
  There was silence after that. Then someone said, "There's gaydar for you, in 1918." Another voice called, "Valour." The close-packed audience buzzed and wept. Some applauded. And Hannah saw one older woman fingering a medal on her breast. The red poppy.
  It was too much. No birthday had ever been better. She mentally ranged through hideous or merely disappointing birthdays from age three upward, a catastrophe of humiliating images, some appallingly recent. The time she'd thrown up on the classmate she'd expected to seduce. The time her date broke up with her and left her by the side of the road with no underwear. The carrot cake that made everyone sick. The guest who wanted all of Hannah's friends to boycott the hotel where they were heading to dance. The old boyfriend who showed up, stoned on Ecstasy. The fire in the kitchen stove that sent two terrified mice blundering over her mother's legs. This made up for it all. How had Isabel pulled it off? Why was she being so good to Hannah?
  Embarrassed by her own display of emotion, Hannah pushed through the applauding dykes to the rear of the bar, fervently hoping for a bathroom stall in which to blow her nose and compose herself. Another Radclyffe Hall lookalike smiled and nodded to her as Hannah barreled into the loo and, observing Hannah's crimson face, extended a perfectly starched handkerchief from a blazer pocket. "Here, Miss."
  The Radclyffe, amused, reached into another pocket and brought out a handful of coins Hannah had never seen before. Seeing her confusion, the handsome woman said "An American, is it? That's a ha'penny, that's a tuppence, that's threepence."
  It was unmistakable. It was Hannah's handwriting.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She walked out of Willow Street, which would never again haunt her as it had. There were bigger ghosts to serve. "Here you go," she tossed the ball to Cubby. "But who's the lady waiting for you?"
  If she ever really needed a stiff drink at Sappho's, it was now. Hannah burst into the club just as Denise, Elaine, Vera, Mandy, and Jo were cheering the Yankees game. Bets had obviously been placed. Isabel was putting silver trays of snacks in front of everyone as they gathered under the new big-screen TV, and wads of cash shifted discreetly between trays.
  Hannah had put down a five-dollar bill for a beer. Isabel brought and uncapped the beer, then pushed some coins and a small bowl of Cracker Jack toward Hannah. It wasn't until she had taken four good swallows, and removed her eyes from the TV screen, that Hannah saw what was mixed in with her change: a tiny silver baseball glove, Maud Nora's Cracker Jack prize from 1945. She vaguely recalled it falling out of her uniform skirt pocket as she stood on tiptoe to peek into the window of the black lesbian bar in Grand Rapids. How had it ended up at Sappho's?
  She looked at Isabel, who smiled back at her over the coins, saying quietly, "Yes, this is your change, the little change you asked for," and then went back to wiping down the bar.
  Silence. Then: "It's middle-aged radical feminists," a voice in the back contributed. "The scary women today are like you."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last four paragraphs.. End with the sentence ' Which exciting new writer will we find next?
  For more information about Bywater Books and the annual Bywater Prize for Fiction, please visit our website.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: On Tuesday, having surrendered her university ID and office keys, Hannah walked disconsolately into Lecture Hall B-12 for a final nostalgic visit. Here, she had made the past visible, selecting what she believed students must know about women's differing histories. She gave a loving pat to the wobbly overhead projector, now shoved into a corner, its long electric cord wrapped like a protective dragon's tail around an aging body. This had been her old standby when DVD films failed to load; just images laid over a light box, projected against the two big screens. Sappho, Queen Liliokalani, Bessie Jackson. How it made them real, huge, larger than life, undeniable!
  She was alone. She was on her way to nowhere, fired at middle age. This lecture hall had been her kingdom, or queendom, or playing field. Dr. Hannah Stern is in the house; start note-taking! Well, who would come in and stop her if she taught one last lecture now?
  We sponsor the Bywater Prize for Fiction to help with this quest. Each prize winner receives $1,000 and publication of their novel. We have already discovered amazing writers like Jill Malone, Sally Bellerose, and Hilary Sloin through the Bywater Prize. Which exciting new writer will we find next?
  For more information about Bywater Books and the annual Bywater Prize for Fiction, please visit our website.