conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a title for a book about Wisconsin, Minnesota, California with the genre: Children's Books, Growing Up & Facts of Life
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'The Ghost's Grave'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Ghost's Grave
  The night I moved in with Aunt Ethel, she shot a bat in the kitchen. If there had been anyplace else for me to go, I would have headed back to the airport right then. Of course, if I'd had a choice of where to spend the summer, I would never have trudged into Aunt Ethel's house in the first place.
  After a plane ride from Minneapolis to Seattle; a shuttle ride downtown to the Greyhound bus station; and a long, bumpy bus ride to Carbon City, I saw Aunt Ethel for the first time.
  She met me at the bus station. It wasn't really a station—there was merely a sign in the window of the Carbon City Market: BUS ARRIVES AND DEPARTS HERE.
  A scattering of houses backed up to the hills on either side of the road. In one yard a faded FOR SALE BY OWNER sign looked as if it had been there long enough to grow roots. Next door, tall grass had grown up through the spokes of a discarded bicycle, and a black cat dozed on the hood of a car that had no tires. Dusk darkened the street, making it seem dreary, but I suspected Carbon City would be bleak in full sun, too. The town matched my mood.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about SCHEDULE.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Ghost's Grave
  The night I moved in with Aunt Ethel, she shot a bat in the kitchen. If there had been anyplace else for me to go, I would have headed back to the airport right then. Of course, if I'd had a choice of where to spend the summer, I would never have trudged into Aunt Ethel's house in the first place. 
  After a plane ride from Minneapolis to Seattle; a shuttle ride downtown to the Greyhound bus station; and a long, bumpy bus ride to Carbon City, I saw Aunt Ethel for the first time. 
  She met me at the bus station. It wasn't really a station—there was merely a sign in the window of the Carbon City Market: BUS ARRIVES AND DEPARTS HERE. ASK FOR SCHEDULE. 
  A scattering of houses backed up to the hills on either side of the road. In one yard a faded FOR SALE BY OWNER sign looked as if it had been there long enough to grow roots. Next door, tall grass had grown up through the spokes of a discarded bicycle, and a black cat dozed on the hood of a car that had no tires. Dusk darkened the street, making it seem dreary, but I suspected Carbon City would be bleak in full sun, too. The town matched my mood.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I had assumed Willie would want to watch, but he had disappeared. I hoped he was keeping his promise to act as my lookout on the street, ready to alert me if anyone came this way.
  I continued to poke the spade into the dirt, moving it farther from the center of the circle, until it went straight down without clunking.
  I angled the shovel to take out shallow scoops of dirt.
  The metal box did not look old. It was enclosed in a heavy plastic bag that had been stapled shut. I didn't know when plastic bags or staplers were invented, but I was fairly certain it was later than 1903. I realized someone else had dug here after Willie's leg was buried and had left this box in the grave.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about digging, topped.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I had assumed Willie would want to watch, but he had disappeared. I hoped he was keeping his promise to act as my lookout on the street, ready to alert me if anyone came this way. 
  I continued to poke the spade into the dirt, moving it farther from the center of the circle, until it went straight down without clunking. 
  I angled the shovel to take out shallow scoops of dirt. It took only a few minutes of digging to uncover a smooth gray metal surface about eighteen inches long and six inches wide, topped with a handle. 
  The metal box did not look old. It was enclosed in a heavy plastic bag that had been stapled shut. I didn't know when plastic bags or staplers were invented, but I was fairly certain it was later than 1903. I realized someone else had dug here after Willie's leg was buried and had left this box in the grave.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last paragraph.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Before long the kittens let us pick them up, and soon they began purring when we held them. We named the orange one Max, the black-and-white one Purrball, and the tabby-striped one Spooky.