Rizzoli and Isles
A E Bruce:
I want to copy and paste my old works into this chat, and see if you can find real people throughout history who have similar themes in their life to my work. I then want to go through the process with you of writing the story. My intention is to show people how they can use your program to help them when they feel all alone. I’d put all of our chat into a readable format for my website. I would like it if you consented to this process before we started.
ChatGPT:
Thought for 13s
Absolutely—I consent. You’re welcome to copy/paste our full chat on your site and use it to demo how this process can help people feel less alone.
Here are a few simple ground rules/clarifications so you have clean footing:
Please credit me as “ChatGPT (GPT-5 Thinking)”.
Don’t present me as a human author or as having lived experience. I’m an AI assistant.
You keep rights to your original works; I provide suggestions and text you can use/edit.
I’ll do my best to be accurate and will cite sources when we bring in real history, but you’re responsible for final fact-checking and any legal/ethical considerations (e.g., quoting, privacy).
This isn’t mental-health or legal advice. If sensitive topics arise, I can add gentle content notes.
A quick workflow I propose:
You paste an old piece (any length is fine).
I extract core themes, motifs, and emotional arcs.
I propose historical figures whose lives echo those themes (with brief justifications).
We pick 1–2 and I research them with citations, then map parallels to your piece.
We outline and draft a new story (or vignette series), weaving your voice with those historical echoes.
We finish with a tidy, web-ready summary of “How to use ChatGPT for this,” plus a sources list.
If that all works for you, drop in the first piece whenever you’re ready, and I’ll get started.
A E Bruce:
My name is Fauna Rizoli. My dad, Frankie Rizoli, is a detective and my mom, Maura Isles-Rizoli, is the chief coroner. I also have an aunt, Jane, who is also a dectective. And my godfather, Vince, is also a detective. I have a great family, but will I loose them forever when they find out the truth about me? She is my life and so are they. Do I have to loose one to have the other?
Today is the day. I'm going to tell my family about her. She sent me a picture of her brown hair that she was going to dye pink. She wanted to have her hair done before she met my family. I didn't mind. Considering she was dying her hair my favorite color. I hope it is not too much of a surprise, or heart break when I introduce her to my family. I don't want them to hate me because of this.
It's time for the reveal. She just sent me a picture and she is on her way and her hair looks great! I just hope she can get here smoothly. Oh, there she is, okay stay calm. When I got to the door and opened it I was expecting a great big hug instead I was greeted by a man in a uniform and he told me he need my family for a car crash that happened. That's when I started to get worried, so I asked my mom if I could come and she said it would be find.
My fears came true. It was her car. She's in the emergency room. She's dying. I have to tell my family about her now. "Guys, can I talk to you?" "Sure, baby. What's up?" my dad asked. "That girl that was in the car crash, Lisa Mendes, I know her. I really know her. She's my girlfriend." There was silence all around. Then my mom got up and said, "Baby, you should have told us sooner. Because.... I really didn't want to meet her like this." They didn't shun me. They embraced me for who I was. I just hope she makes it through all of this.
This isn't happening. She's coding. Essentially dying. Vince is holding me, making sure I don't go crazy. She can't go, I need her. She needs me as I need her. We need each other. If she dies it will be my fault.............................. No! No! I tore through Vince's arms and pushed the doctors out of way. She can't be dead. I held her like a child clinging to their mother. I had to find a way to bring her back. I need her. I'll fall to pieces without her. She means everything to me. Then I heard Vince in my ear, "She's with Frost now. And she will always be with you. In your heart." She was with Frost now. She would be happy. The only problem is. Will I?
ChatGPT:
Thought for 44s
Thank you for trusting me with this, Fauna. I’m in—and your piece is a powerful start. Here’s how I’ll help, right now:
What I hear in your piece
Core themes: queer love; fear of rejection → unexpected acceptance; sudden loss (ER/coding scene); found family in a tight-knit public-service clan (detectives, coroner); survivor’s guilt; the question “Can love and family both survive the truth?”
Motifs & images: pink-dyed hair (claiming self/joy), doorbell interruption, uniformed messenger, sterile ER space vs. intimate embrace, “with Frost now” (afterlife/friendship), the child-to-mother hold.
Emotional arc: secrecy → resolve → dread → catastrophe → confession → acceptance → collapse → fragile hope.
Historical echo options (pick 1–2 to pair with this piece)
Rather than force a single perfect match, I suggest we pair your story with 1–2 figures whose lives echo different facets. Then we braid them into your narrative.
Anne Lister (1791–1840) – diarist who documented devoted relationships with women and navigated family/property expectations.
Echo: claiming love openly within a family structure; writing-as-proof of a life.Dr. Sara Josephine Baker (1873–1945) – pioneering public-health physician; lived with women partners in a Boston marriage.
Echo: medicine as love-in-action; a woman whose vocation and private life intertwined, offering a lineage for Maura/your medical world.Isadora Duncan (1877–1927) – modern dance icon with relationships with men and women; marked by sudden, public tragedy.
Echo: the shock of loss bound up with movement, vehicles, and the body; how art/love keep someone present after death.Radclyffe Hall (1880–1943) & Una Vincenzo, Lady Troubridge – long partnership amid social scrutiny.
Echo: steadfast queer love under pressure; family and public roles negotiating acceptance.Del Martin & Phyllis Lyon (1921–2008; 1924–2020) – lifelong partners and activists.
Echo: “Will my family still be my family?” turned into “How do we build a bigger one?”—useful for your ending note of hope.
We can research any of these deeply and pull exact scenes/quotes later with citations. For now, pick the pair that feels right (my quick vote: Duncan (for sudden loss) + Baker or Lister (for family/role integration)).
A clean plan to transform your piece into a publish-ready story
I’ll draft in this structure unless you’d like me to aim differently:
One-page “seed” revision (present tense, tighter beats).
Keep your voice; sharpen the reveal and ER sequence; use the pink-hair photo as a leitmotif.
Paired “echo mini-essays” (300–500 words each).
Short, lyrical context on the chosen historical figures; focus on the human parallels (not a wiki dump).
Braided version (1,200–1,800 words).
Your scene interleaved with 1–2 historical echoes at key beats (doorbell → messenger; confession → acceptance; code blue → legacy).
Afterword: “How to use ChatGPT when you feel alone.”
A step-by-step—what you pasted, what I extracted, how we matched, how you revised—so readers can try it themselves.
Content note.
Brief heads-up for hospital/medical crisis and loss.
Immediate line-edits (light touch) to strengthen your seed
Tighten repetition and clarify agency in the ER: let you choose to step forward, then be caught.
Give Lisa a tiny, vivid detail from the photo (freckles at her hairline? chipped nail polish?) so she’s present in the ER even before we see her.
Soften the “it will be my fault” with interior thought that shows why you feel responsible (timing of the reveal? route she took?).
If you want, I can produce a sharpened, 700–900 word revision of your scene next, then we’ll pick 1–2 historical echoes and I’ll weave them in. Or—tell me which two echoes you want, and I’ll jump straight into the braided draft.
A E Bruce:
—> “Thank you for trusting me with this, Fauna.”
I appreciate your research, but I don’t want any confusion between us. My name isn’t Fauna, that’s just how 13 year old writer me would introduce their stories.
ChatGPT:
Thought for 8s
ahh got it — thanks for clarifying! Sorry for the mix-up. I’ll just refer to you as “you” unless you tell me a name you’d like me to use.
As a next step, here’s that tightened seed revision (present tense, ~850 words) you can use as a base. If you want tweaks to voice or tense, say the word and I’ll adjust.
Today is the day.
I’ve rehearsed a dozen versions, but none of them include a siren. None of them include the way my hands won’t stop shaking as I scroll back to her last photo: brown hair about to become pink, my favorite color. A grin I can hear through the screen. Gonna dye it before I meet them. Surprise.
I don’t mind. I love the idea of her walking in like a firework—pink and unapologetic—right into this house full of badges and lab coats and the kind of love that tests you for weak spots. My dad, Frankie, a detective. My mom, Maura, the chief medical examiner. Aunt Jane, a detective too. My godfather, Vince, practically another backbone in this family. I have a great family. I do. But what if the truth and my family are two magnets flipped the wrong way—what if I can only hold one?
The doorbell rings. My heart lunges against my ribs.
I smooth my shirt, breathe, open the door for her hug—
—and face a uniform.
“Isles-Rizoli residence?” he asks. His voice is careful. “We need your family. There’s been a crash.”
The world tilts a degree. “Can I come?” I hear myself ask, already knowing Mom will see past the question to the need.
“It would be fine,” she says, voice gentle and even, the one she saves for bad rooms and worse news.
The drive to the hospital is made of red lights that won’t turn green and the sound of Aunt Jane muttering into her phone, and the way Dad keeps glancing at me like there might be something he can fix with his eyes. Vince rides shotgun, knuckles white.
The ER is a white noise machine: monitors chirping, wheels squeaking, somebody crying like they’re underwater. I know this place, in the way you know a recurring nightmare. We’re ushered through. There’s a chart on a board. There’s a name.
Lisa Mendes.
Breath leaves me like I’ve been pushed. The pink that was supposed to be a celebration is still trapped in the future.
“Guys, can I talk to you?” My voice wobbles, but it holds.
Dad turns, clearing space with his body the way he always does when it matters. “Sure, baby. What’s up?”
I look at my mom, and I think of how small kindness can be—just a hand on a shoulder, just a nod. I think of Lisa’s laughing message: You’re going to love it. Or you’ll roast me forever. I think of the siren.
“The girl from the crash,” I say. “Lisa. I know her. I really know her. She’s my girlfriend.”
The word hangs. Time goes staticky. No one breathes.
Then Mom stands. Her eyes are wet—not because of me, but with me. “Baby,” she says, crossing the space and catching my hands. “You should have told us sooner. Because… I really didn’t want to meet her like this.”
Dad’s arms are around us both, solid and warm. Aunt Jane exhales a curse that sounds like a prayer. Vince’s jaw works, then settles. The room shifts back into color. They didn’t shun me. The fear I’ve been guarding like a secret clears, and now there is only the hallway, and the closed door at the end of it, and Lisa on the other side.
A nurse appears and says words that don’t add up to hope. Internal injuries. Blood loss. They’re doing everything. Please wait here.
Waiting is a kind of drowning. I scroll back to the photo again—the last one before pink. Her hair falls across one eye. There are freckles at her hairline I’ve never noticed. You think you know a person, and then a picture teaches you a new geography. I memorize her like that could anchor her to earth.
Monitors wail. Somewhere, a voice calls codes I’ve only heard on television. A doctor’s shoes squeak past too fast.
“She’s coding,” someone says, and then Vince is behind me, arms like a seatbelt across my chest, and the hallway is the length of an ocean.
“No,” I say into his sleeve. “No, no, no.”
The world narrows to a doorway. I don’t remember moving, just the door giving and then too much light. The team is a storm around the bed. I catch a flash of her hand, the chipped nail polish, the IV tape tugging at skin that used to flush when I made her laugh. A voice says, “You can’t be in here,” and I’m in there anyway.
I press past hands that want to protect me from this and reach her. The sheet is warm. “Lisa,” I say, and it’s a command and a plea. I fold over her the way a child folds into their mother in a line that is older than language. I don’t care that I’m crying, that my voice breaks, that I’ve become raw sound. “Please. Stay. I need you. We need each other. You said— you said—”
Someone pulls at my shoulders. Vince. The voice in my ear is steady and broken all at once. “Kiddo,” he says, and I know he’s thinking of Frost, the friend we lost whose absence turned us all into different shapes. “If she goes… she’s with Frost now. And she’ll be with you. Here.” He presses my hand against my chest. “Always.”
“Time of—” a voice says, and stops when they see me. They give us a minute, because sometimes mercy is small and measured in minutes.
I smooth Lisa’s hair back like it’s already pink, like she made it here in time and walked in laughing and let my family love her with me. I press my forehead to hers. The room quiets, just a little. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I should’ve told them sooner. I should’ve asked you to take a different route. I should’ve—”
There is no magic that lets you bargain with a timeline that has already set.
Mom’s hand finds my back. Dad’s hand finds my shoulder. Aunt Jane is at the foot of the bed, shoulders squared like a door against the world. Vince is a wall at my side.
They don’t leave me alone with the question that started this day. I’m not choosing between love and family; I’m held by both and also by the space where Lisa is not and somehow still is. The ache opens a room inside me that I didn’t know was there. It’s not hope, not yet. It’s something like a vow.
We walk out together. The hospital air smells like lemon and gloves. My phone is heavy in my pocket with the photo of the girl I love, hair halfway between brown and the pink she promised. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay. I don’t know what it means to be with someone who’s with Frost now. I only know this: when I said “we need each other,” I meant all of us.
And I will learn how to mean it without losing her.
Want me to (a) polish this more to your voice, (b) draft the two historical “echo” mini-essays, or (c) jump straight to a braided version interleaving your scene with the echoes? If you have a preferred name you want me to use on the site credits, tell me and I’ll use that going forward.
A E Bruce:
I didn’t need any of that, but thank you anyway. I want to rewrite this away from the Rizzoli and Isles show, since this was fanfiction back in the day. A historical figure usually helps me refocus on something real, but I’m thinking that might not be helpful.
Do this for me instead. Just looking at the bones, a story of a girl getting ready to introduce her girlfriend to her family, and a car crash ruining the entire thing, turning happiness to grief in the blink of an eye. Can I have some new title suggestions?
ChatGPT:
totally—here are fresh title ideas (no fandom ties), centered on “joy interrupted”:
lyrical
Before the Siren
The Doorbell and the Silence
Pink, Almost
The Moment Between
Where the Light Turns Blue
direct & stark
The Reveal That Wasn’t
Interrupted
After the Knock
The Drive to Mercy
What I Meant to Say
hospital/ER–tinged
Code Blue at Visiting Hours
Triage
Waiting Room, December
Time of
Consent to Treat
motif-based (pink hair, photo, doorbell)
The Pink She Promised
Screenshot at 3:17 PM
Ringing
Last Photo, First Meeting
Hair Dye, Hard Stop
metaphor & time
Blink
Fault Line
The Collison of Joy
The Second That Split
When Green Lights Don’t
want me to tailor a shortlist to a specific vibe (softer vs. raw, queer-lit vs. general lit)?
A E Bruce:
Screenshot at 3:17 PM
“State’s evidence 14B. Permission to publish.”
“Permission granted.”
“Miss Lee. You took this screenshot at 3:17 pm, is that correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Will you describe the image?”
“It is the moment after my girlfriend’s car came to a stop after a violent spin. We were on a FaceTime call as she was driving. I heard a loud crashing sound before watching the camera spin out of control. I was gripping the phone so tightly that the phone’s settings took a screenshot of the call. In the image you can see Wendy, upside down…”
“Take your time.”
“She’s upside down with blood covering the steering wheel and hands.”
“Why did you bring this screenshot to my attention?”
“Because it shows that Wendy had a green light when she was hit. This trial is all about whether or not Wendy was to blame for the accident. She’s upside down, covered in blood, but the phone dropped low enough that in the background you can see her green light. Which proves she had the right of way and died because that man was in too much of a rush.”
“Objection, speculation!”
“Overruled.”
“I have no more questions, your honor.”
“Defense, your witness.”
“Miss Lee. You said that you gripped the phone and it screenshotted the image itself?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I have an iPhone, you press the power button and the volume and it screenshots automatically.”
“Yes, but how were you holding the phone?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No. I was too busy screaming into the phone trying to get Wendy to talk to me.”
“Yes or no answers are fine.”
“No, they aren’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes and no doesn’t cover the expanse of my grief, Attorney. How crazy does that sound: is your girlfriend dead? Yes. That word doesn’t even begin to answer the question. She’s not just dead. She was murdered, whether you convince this jury or not that it was an accident. She’s dead, and she’s not supposed to be. Sometimes there is more to life than yes and no. Like I should’ve said, yes you can meet my family, but let me go pick you up or meet somewhere else, just please, please, don’t come to my house because you are going to die!”
Silence.
“I have no more questions for this witness, your honor.”
“Miss Lee, you may step down.”
ChatGPT:
Giving feedback on courtroom excerpt
Since the user shared an excerpt, it seems they likely want some feedback or revisions. I’ll focus on making succinct suggestions like line edits, improving pacing, or refining the dialogue for realism. I’ll also provide options, keeping my tone supportive and helpful while ensuring the edits stay true to their style.
Refining legal context
The legal context seems a bit complicated, but I'll clarify. Wendy FaceTiming while driving could be seen as negligent, especially if it's admitted as evidence. I'll suggest tweaking details like hands-free usage and address what evidence could be admissible. The defense might argue bias, but legal terminology like "permission to publish" might help clarify courtroom language. Also, determining if this is a criminal or civil case matters too.
Clarifying screenshot details
It seems the screenshot came from Miss Lee’s phone, not Wendy’s. If Wendy’s phone fell, that could explain the green light being visible. I’ll change the wording to say "her phone slipped/fell" to make it clearer. The ambiguity around which phone dropped can be tricky, but I think this works.
Improving courtroom flow and scene structure
I’m suggesting a chain of custody with EXIF timestamps and traffic cam evidence. I’ll recommend some courtroom flow: objections like “nonresponsive” or “move to strike” might be needed, and experts should testify for things like signal timing. Two versions: one lightly edited for clarity, another polished for courtroom realism.
Thought for 49s
Done
Love the title — it frames the whole piece around one frozen second. Here are fast, surgical tweaks to make the courtroom beat land harder and feel legally tighter, without losing your punch.
Quick craft notes
Who’s trying the case? You open with “State’s evidence,” so this reads like a criminal vehicular homicide/manslaughter trial. Keep “State’s Exhibit 14B.” If you want a civil wrongful-death suit, switch to “Plaintiff’s Exhibit.”
Whose phone “drops”? The screenshot is on Miss Lee’s phone, but the line “the phone dropped low enough” sounds like Wendy’s phone moved. Clarify that Wendy’s phone slipped during the spin, so the remote FaceTime frame picked up the green light.
FaceTime while driving. If you don’t want Wendy blamed for distracted driving, make it hands-free (dash mount / CarPlay) and have Miss Lee state that plainly. Otherwise, opposing counsel will hammer contributory negligence.
Foundation for the photo. Add two lines to authenticate: the device, timestamp, unedited status. (Chain of custody can be implied.)
Speculation vs. fact. “He was in too much of a rush” invites “speculation.” Let Miss Lee stick to what the image shows; let an expert (traffic engineer or video analyst) testify to timing/angles later.
Cross tone. The “yes/no” demand is realistic, but the judge usually manages it. If Miss Lee goes long, opposing counsel will say “move to strike as nonresponsive,” which the judge may grant. You can still keep her burst of grief—just let the judge’s gavel land after.
A tightened, courtroom-clean pass (keeps your voice)
State’s Exhibit 14B. Permission to publish.
Granted.
PROSECUTOR: Miss Lee, you took this screenshot at 3:17 p.m., correct?
MISS LEE: Yes, ma’am.
PROSECUTOR: On what device?
MISS LEE: My iPhone. It automatically saved with the date and time. I haven’t edited it.
PROSECUTOR: What does the image show?
MISS LEE: The moment after my girlfriend’s car stopped spinning. We were on a FaceTime call—hands-free. I heard a crash, then the camera whipped around. During that, my phone registered a screenshot. In the image, you can see Wendy—upside down—blood on the steering wheel and her hands. And in the background, through her windshield, you can see the traffic signal facing her lane is green.
PROSECUTOR: Why is that important?
MISS LEE: Because this trial is about whether Wendy caused the crash. That frame shows her green light. She had the right-of-way.
DEFENSE: Objection. Calls for speculation and conclusion.
JUDGE: Sustained as to the conclusion. Jury will disregard the last clause.
PROSECUTOR: No further questions.
DEFENSE: Miss Lee, you said the phone “screenshotted itself.” How?
MISS LEE: iPhones can do that when the side buttons are pressed. I was gripping my phone.
DEFENSE: How were you holding it?
MISS LEE: I don’t know. I was screaming her name.
DEFENSE: Yes or no answers are sufficient.
JUDGE: Counsel, ask a question. Witness, answer what is asked.
DEFENSE: Was Wendy using her phone while driving?
MISS LEE: It was mounted. Hands-free.
DEFENSE: You can’t know what she touched in that car, can you?
MISS LEE: I know what I saw. Her phone fell during the spin—that’s why the angle drops and you can see the light.
DEFENSE: Nothing further.
MISS LEE: (after a beat) “Yes” and “no” don’t cover this. She’s upside down in that picture and still trying to breathe. You asked how I held my phone. I held it like it could hold her.
DEFENSE: Move to strike as nonresponsive.
JUDGE: Stricken. Jury will disregard the witness’s last statement. Miss Lee, you may step down.
Optional tiny additions
One line from the prosecutor on redirect: “Miss Lee, does Exhibit 14B fairly and accurately depict what you saw at 3:17 p.m.?” → “Yes.” (This locks foundation.)
If you want the mic-drop grief moment to stand, place it in hallway/dialogue after the testimony, or let it happen, then show the judge striking it—your emotional payload still hits the reader.
Want me to tailor this for civil trial phrasing instead, or build a short expert-witness vignette (traffic engineer explaining signal timing that corroborates the screenshot)?
A E Bruce:
If left unedited, what would your recommendation be for potential publication?
ChatGPT:
Short answer: yes—“Screenshot at 3:17 PM” can be publishable as-is (no edits) if you aim it at the right kind of venue and format.
Here are your best-fit paths, with zero rewriting required beyond basic formatting:
1) Flash (hermit-crab) fiction or CNF
Why it fits: The Q&A/transcript form is a classic hermit-crab container; the voice and emotional turn land without narration.
Target length: Keep it under ~1,200 words (you’re likely already there).
Label it: Either “Fiction” or “Creative Nonfiction” (hermit-crab). If you prefer maximal flexibility, choose “Fiction.”
Submission notes: Include a brief content note (vehicular death; hospital trauma). Simultaneous submissions OK unless prohibited. You’re asking for First Serial Rights.
2) Short drama: 10-minute play / courtroom monologue
Why it fits: It already reads like trial testimony; minimal stage directions needed.
How to package: Add a 1–2 line Dramatis Personae list (Judge, Prosecutor, Defense, Miss Lee; optional Clerk/Bailiff) and standard play formatting (ALL CAPS for speakers).
Where it plays well: Ten-minute play festivals, new-work series, and lit mags that publish short plays.
3) Audio micro / scripted podcast vignette
Why it fits: Dialogue-driven, clean roles, single setting. Works great as a 3–6 minute piece.
How to package: A title page + cast list; mark brief SFX (gavel, “silence,” courtroom murmur) in brackets.
4) Contest angle (theme: grief, evidence, technology)
Why it fits: The “green light in the screenshot” is a sharp motif judges remember.
What to watch: Contests often insist on unpublished work; don’t post the full text online first if you plan to enter.
What I’d actually do (minimal admin, no edits)
Pick a label: call it “Fiction (hermit-crab transcript)” for widest eligibility.
Add a 1–2 sentence cover note:
Dear Editors—“Screenshot at 3:17 PM” is a transcript-style flash about a girlfriend’s death and a single screenshot that reframes blame. ~X words. Simultaneous submission; content note: vehicular death/hospital code.
Keep your title. It’s perfect and marketable.
Rights & logistics: ask for First Serial Rights; they revert to you upon publication. Withdraw promptly if accepted elsewhere.
If you want, tell me which path (flash, play, or audio) you’re leaning toward and I’ll spit out a ready-to-submit version with standard formatting and a one-paragraph cover letter.
