conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Funny, Joan, Heartfelt with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Voice Lessons'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first five paragraphs for this book
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Voice Lessons
  It just made sense. At their core, so many of the projects I've been involved with have explored the bond between women. Elsa and Anna. Elphaba and Glinda. Best friends. Sisters. Not always pretty, not always perfect. Yet these relationships, these amazing women, have shaped the way I see the world. There is an uncanny, inexplicable reason these projects keep finding me. And I am so grateful for that.
  Years back, I had an idea for a moment in one of my concerts, to finish the haftorah I never had. It's a special prayer Jewish kids "perform" at their bar mitzvah ceremony. My parents let me quit Hebrew school when I complained of an impatient teacher getting aggravated by my barrage of questions about God and how certain things in the Bible seemed sexist and unforgiving and not befitting a god whom I was praying to at night. So, having failed my grandparents and hearing for the next twenty years what a shame it was that I didn't sing my haftorah, I thought I would revisit it in my late thirties on stage. I had learned of a woman in the Bible named Devorah (also known as Deborah and Dvora). "The Triple Threat" I liked to call her. The poet, the judge, and general. And she sang too! When summoning her armies to battle, her husband—also a general, who would never go without her—would chant, "The rulers ceased in Israel until you Devorah arose. Awake, awake, Devorah, awake and sing your song." A few years earlier, I'd taken a trip to see my sister and baby nephew, Avery. When Cara went to put him down for his nap, I listened at the bedroom door and overheard her sing Avery to sleep. Cara never sang around me, or anyone for that matter. I was the singer in the family. I had some invisible claim to that. But just then she had the most hauntingly beautiful voice. It was sweet and pure and emotional. In that moment I felt as if I had stolen something from her. All these years. That voice was inside my sister and I didn't even know. By the time I wrote about Devorah, Cara was pushing through some hard times. She was busting her ass to finish her master's degree, provide for her children, and keep her writing dreams alive. She was my Devorah, the true warrior. She needed her chance to rise up and shine.
  On a typical day, I wear a pair of Chuck Taylors, jeans, and a sweater long enough to cover my butt when I bend over in the classroom to pick up a stray glue stick. I teach elementary school students how to read while doing my best to steer clear of snot (theirs) and profanity (mine)—at least until after 3:00. At home I have two dogs, two boys, and a husband. At home I try to steer clear of farts (particularly in the kitchen), and anyone who's gonna give me shit for cussing.
  I don't mean to be misleading; I clean up nicely, I just don't clean up often. And that's why being on the red carpet at the Oscars with Dee was such a shock; glamour is in short supply where I live.
  My sister—I call her Dee—is Tony Award–winning Broadway star Idina Menzel. She starred in Rent, Wicked, and, most recently, If/Then. Moreover, she is the voice of Disney's Elsa, the powerful ice queen, in the blockbuster Frozen. She sings the infectious torch song "Let It Go," which set records on the Billboard charts and landed her on the cover of Billboard magazine. The one that had little girls singing into video cameras all over the globe, "Let it go... can't hold it back anymore" and "The cold never bothered me anyway" was the same one my elementary school students constantly sang in the hallways, pointing at me and whispering, "That's Elsa's sister."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Voice Lessons
  It just made sense. At their core, so many of the projects I've been involved with have explored the bond between women. Elsa and Anna. Elphaba and Glinda. Best friends. Sisters. Not always pretty, not always perfect. Yet these relationships, these amazing women, have shaped the way I see the world. There is an uncanny, inexplicable reason these projects keep finding me. And I am so grateful for that.
  Years back, I had an idea for a moment in one of my concerts, to finish the haftorah I never had. It's a special prayer Jewish kids "perform" at their bar mitzvah ceremony. My parents let me quit Hebrew school when I complained of an impatient teacher getting aggravated by my barrage of questions about God and how certain things in the Bible seemed sexist and unforgiving and not befitting a god whom I was praying to at night. So, having failed my grandparents and hearing for the next twenty years what a shame it was that I didn't sing my haftorah, I thought I would revisit it in my late thirties on stage. I had learned of a woman in the Bible named Devorah (also known as Deborah and Dvora). "The Triple Threat" I liked to call her. The poet, the judge, and general. And she sang too! When summoning her armies to battle, her husband—also a general, who would never go without her—would chant, "The rulers ceased in Israel until you Devorah arose. Awake, awake, Devorah, awake and sing your song." A few years earlier, I'd taken a trip to see my sister and baby nephew, Avery. When Cara went to put him down for his nap, I listened at the bedroom door and overheard her sing Avery to sleep. Cara never sang around me, or anyone for that matter. I was the singer in the family. I had some invisible claim to that. But just then she had the most hauntingly beautiful voice. It was sweet and pure and emotional. In that moment I felt as if I had stolen something from her. All these years. That voice was inside my sister and I didn't even know. By the time I wrote about Devorah, Cara was pushing through some hard times. She was busting her ass to finish her master's degree, provide for her children, and keep her writing dreams alive. She was my Devorah, the true warrior. She needed her chance to rise up and shine.
  On a typical day, I wear a pair of Chuck Taylors, jeans, and a sweater long enough to cover my butt when I bend over in the classroom to pick up a stray glue stick. I teach elementary school students how to read while doing my best to steer clear of snot (theirs) and profanity (mine)—at least until after 3:00. At home I have two dogs, two boys, and a husband. At home I try to steer clear of farts (particularly in the kitchen), and anyone who's gonna give me shit for cussing.
  I don't mean to be misleading; I clean up nicely, I just don't clean up often. And that's why being on the red carpet at the Oscars with Dee was such a shock; glamour is in short supply where I live.
  My sister—I call her Dee—is Tony Award–winning Broadway star Idina Menzel. She starred in Rent, Wicked, and, most recently, If/Then. Moreover, she is the voice of Disney's Elsa, the powerful ice queen, in the blockbuster Frozen. She sings the infectious torch song "Let It Go," which set records on the Billboard charts and landed her on the cover of Billboard magazine. The one that had little girls singing into video cameras all over the globe, "Let it go... can't hold it back anymore" and "The cold never bothered me anyway" was the same one my elementary school students constantly sang in the hallways, pointing at me and whispering, "That's Elsa's sister.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: three more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The rest happened in an instant—and yet it seemed in slow-motion. In a volume that exceeded my own, Jon shouted, "I just want to get home, sit down, and relax!" Then he set both his hands flat on the table in front of him, pushed all six feet two inches of himself straight out of his chair, and added, "For once!"
  When I saw Jon turn toward Avery I was still standing on the opposite side of the table, too far away to intercept him. I felt a dark hole open in my stomach as he shot toward Avery in two big steps, grabbed him just beneath his shoulders as if his arms were the lifeless rails of a chair and not the soft limbs of a child. He quickly carried him partially up the stairs and then slammed Avery's tiny bum down on one. Gravity would have been more gentle than Jon had been. Avery froze, his eyes wide, vacant at first, like his spirit had been ejected on impact.
  I turned to Jon. "I'm gonna go run him a hot bath," I said, then carried Avery up the stairs, away from his dad. From dinner. From a stove that might or might not still have been on. From a fridge that might or might not still have been open. From a baby who might or might not have been scared. And from a man suddenly more stranger than lover.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: And from a man suddenly more stranger than lover.. From a baby who might or might not have been scared. From a fridge that might or might not still have been open. From a stove that might or might not still have been on. From dinner. "I'm gonna go run him a hot bath," I said, then carried Avery up the stairs, away from his dad.
  I turned to Jon. Avery froze, his eyes wide, vacant at first, like his spirit had been ejected on impact. Gravity would have been more gentle than Jon had been. He quickly carried him partially up the stairs and then slammed Avery's tiny bum down on one. I felt a dark hole open in my stomach as he shot toward Avery in two big steps, grabbed him just beneath his shoulders as if his arms were the lifeless rails of a chair and not the soft limbs of a child. In a volume that exceeded my own, Jon shouted, "I just want to get home, sit down, and relax!" Then he set both his hands flat on the table in front of him, pushed all six feet two inches of himself straight out of his chair, and added, "For once!"
  When I saw Jon turn toward Avery I was still standing on the opposite side of the table, too far away to intercept him.The rest happened in an instant—and yet it seemed in slow-motion
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last five paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: To Neil Rosini (my attorney and a calm voice of reason), Mary Jo Bode (my forever mentor and another calm voice of reason), Martin and Mason Balgach (because you're like family, but definitely not calm voices of reason). To the Idina Menzel posse: Burt Goldstein, Heather Reynolds, Bonnie Bernstein, and Ken Weinrib. And more family: Ron and Sylvia Phillips, Paul, Bets, and Ollie, Sarah, Kevin, Korynne and Kyler, Susie Mentzel, Aaron Lohr and the incomparable Walker Diggs.
  To my community at Foothill Elementary, especially my students—past and present—from whom I often learn my greatest lessons (like opt for the skort on a windy day).
  To the accommodating staff at the Boulder Valley School District, my principals over the years who have graciously been flexible with my schedule, and the Boulder Valley Education Association for taking what was probably the strangest call they've answered to date.
  To my dogs: Miss Adelaide, may you never be without a lap. Benny, may you never be without a ball (and thanks for keeping your balls out of my lap).
  CARA MENTZEL is a writer and a teacher. She received her bachelor's in psychology from the University of Colorado, Boulder, in 1996, where she graduated magna cum laude. She returned to UC Boulder in 2004 for her teaching certificate and master's in elementary education with an emphasis in child literacy. She received her National Board certification as a reading teacher in 2011.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: To the Idina Menzel posse: Burt Goldstein, Heather Reynolds, Bonnie Bernstein, and Ken Weinrib. And more family: Ron and Sylvia Phillips, Paul, Bets, and Ollie, Sarah, Kevin, Korynne and Kyler, Susie Mentzel, Aaron Lohr and the incomparable Walker Diggs.
  To my community at Foothill Elementary, especially my students—past and present—from whom I often learn my greatest lessons (like opt for the skort on a windy day).
  To the accommodating staff at the Boulder Valley School District, my principals over the years who have graciously been flexible with my schedule, and the Boulder Valley Education Association for taking what was probably the strangest call they've answered to date.
  To my dogs: Miss Adelaide, may you never be without a lap. Benny, may you never be without a ball (and thanks for keeping your balls out of my lap).
  CARA MENTZEL is a writer and a teacher. She received her bachelor's in psychology from the University of Colorado, Boulder, in 1996, where she graduated magna cum laude. She returned to UC Boulder in 2004 for her teaching certificate and master's in elementary education with an emphasis in child literacy. She received her National Board certification as a reading teacher in 2011.