conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Dont, Sit, Apple with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Short Stories & Anthologies?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Halfway Down The Stairs'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first four paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Halfway Down The Stairs
  The novel was, as I'm sure you know, quite dense, and so several long, sleepless editing sessions were required in order to make the work an acceptable length for theatrical presentation. During this period in the latter part of 1896, I insisted on being able to rehearse with a cast so as to determine the success of my editing process. Sir Henry would not allow his personal company of actors to be 'inconvenienced'—his word—with a 'work in progress,' and so left it up to me to assemble a cast of unknowns with whom to rehearse the piece. It took me several weeks, but at last I had my cast—with the exception of an acceptable actor to portray Abraham van Helsing. But I shall come to that.
  You need to understand that, during this period of intense concentration, the character of Count Dracula became even more alive to me than he was during the years of research it took to create him and write the novel. He was so alive to me, in fact, that I often found myself talking with him as I would stagger home nights after hours of emotionally draining rehearsal. 'My dear Count,' I would say, 'have I lost all perspective where you are concerned?' I did this to relieve my anxiety: if the novel were not reduced to an acceptable three-hour theatrical entertainment, Sir Henry made it quite clear to me that he would not permit me to present the work to the public...not in his precious theatre. And so the Count became my constant companion, sir, my father-confessor, my only true friend.
  I began to realize that the only way for the work to be made right, it was necessary for me to make the cast believe in the Count as fiercely as did I. I spoke to them one night of my imaginary conversations with the Count, and though they were at first amused, they came to understand that my dedication to the project was unflappable. I have to say, they were far more accommodating to me than Sir Henry's personal players would ever be with him; being unknowns, there were no egos to soothe or feed. Until the last rehearsal, it was the purest, most enjoyable theatrical experience of my life.
  Oh, the stories I could tell you of their recountings of their conversations with the Count. They came to believe in his existence as much as I.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Listen arched his brows. "Do you really need to know the how and why of it? Isn't it enough that I did it and will not reverse things regardless of your decision?"
  He folded his hands. "Fine. But first I must have a refill on my coffee and a slice of their coconut cream pie. Would you like some, as well? My treat."
  Outside, I was digging into my pocket for change and trying not to shriek with joy. I know how melodramatic that sounds, but it's how I felt. Elated. I knew somehow that all of it was true, that this weird little man had just saved the lives of my sister and nephew.
  Like most people, I don't believe in miracles but often depend on them in the same wishful-thinking way that gets most of us through our days: Maybe I'll win the lottery, maybe I'll get that raise, maybe she'll say she will go out with me. But here, now, in this most unlikely of places, I had been witness to something genuinely miraculous and wanted to sing and dance until the Twinkie Mobile came to haul me off.
  He was in his early thirties, dressed in clean khaki pants and work boots, with a denim shirt and baseball cap. His face sported a vague five-'o'-clock shadow that told you he had, indeed, shaved that morning. His blond hair was neatly combed and there was nothing about him to suggest that he was either homeless or insane.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Mary kissed his cheek as the glare of a car's headlight beams filled the living room. The engine clattered as the ignition was turned off.
  They held hands as they walked upstairs to their bedroom, but before vanishing into the darkness they turned and looked at their home, each remembering some moment from their family's life together.
  As they rounded the landing and started up the second, darker flight of stairs, the lock on the front door jiggled, then turned. The door opened and a harried-looking young man in a business suit entered, fumbled around until he found the light switch, and turned on the overhead lights.
  A young couple came in behind him, wide-eyed and grinning as they looked from one spacious empty room to the next.
  The young woman placed a hand against her protruding belly. "It's going to be perfect for our family."