Celwriter:cant update Thursdays, Saturdays, or Sundays. Can only write in
study hall, mom would kill me if she knew, so cant at home. Anyway, next
chapter.
* * *
Chapter 4
"Can I, please, I have nowhere else to go. Besides, I told the publishers to send my first royalty check here," Cel said.
"Well," Mort said, thinking. He wasn't sure, but he'd give it a shot, "Sure."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Cel shouted jumping up and down.
"Now since I don't feel like cleaning out the attic today, you can have my room tonight and I'll sleep on the couch. In the morning, we can get to the attic. Now how about we get some corn and cocoa and maybe get caught up a bit? How's that?"
"I'd love to," Cel told him, but the corn part was kind of weird. She loved corn on the cob so it didn't really matter. Cel brought in some wood which she found at the back of the house and Mort picked the ripest cobs. Cel set to the fire as Mort boiled water for the corn and for the cocoa.
A short time later, the sunlight began to fade and Mort and Cel sat in front of a small, cozy fire warming the cool New York summer air. They spoke of past events and ideas for stories.
"Do you have any stories that you are working on?" Cel asked. A light lit up on Mort's face and he rushed up the stairs for his laptop to grab what he had been working on before.
"I was working on this when you arrived," he told Cel, "I had just started working on an idea when I heard you knock."
"I'm so sorry for interrupting your writing," Cel said apologetically. She knew how hard it was to begin writing again once one had halted a rush of ideas.
"It's okay," Mort said, "Don't worry." He was just so happy to meet his daughter even if he wasn't sure if she really was his child. Both were silent for a time, Mort typing and Cel eating corn and drinking cocoa.
"So what's your story about?" Cel asked, finally breaking the quite.
"A Nebraska corn farmer. He has the best tasting corn and no one knows why, but he sells it for $3 a cob. Soon after he gets a dog, Maverick, the corn begins to lose its flavor and the farmer doesn't know why."
"It sounds very interesting," Cel stated as she retrieved a notebook from her bag. Both, father and daughter, sat writing for several hours: Mort on the couch and Cel in an armchair. At around ten, Cel looked up at the failing fire and her sleeping father. As Cel's ideas had run out for the night, she kissed her father's forehead and went up to his room to get ready for bed and change into her pink plaid pajama's.
She was home and finally had her father. Her mother might be dead, but it wasn't like Cel would have gotten along well with an adulteress even if Amy was alive as she strongly opposed such things. As she began to drift into slumber, Cel heard footsteps on the stairs. A latch was released and something was pulled from the ceiling, probably the trapdoor to the attic. Up went the footsteps and the door was shut. The person moved around and Cel could hear her father's muffled voice through the ceiling, but speaking both normally and in a Missouri accent. She stood on her bed and cocked her head to listen.
* * *
Chapter 4
"Can I, please, I have nowhere else to go. Besides, I told the publishers to send my first royalty check here," Cel said.
"Well," Mort said, thinking. He wasn't sure, but he'd give it a shot, "Sure."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Cel shouted jumping up and down.
"Now since I don't feel like cleaning out the attic today, you can have my room tonight and I'll sleep on the couch. In the morning, we can get to the attic. Now how about we get some corn and cocoa and maybe get caught up a bit? How's that?"
"I'd love to," Cel told him, but the corn part was kind of weird. She loved corn on the cob so it didn't really matter. Cel brought in some wood which she found at the back of the house and Mort picked the ripest cobs. Cel set to the fire as Mort boiled water for the corn and for the cocoa.
A short time later, the sunlight began to fade and Mort and Cel sat in front of a small, cozy fire warming the cool New York summer air. They spoke of past events and ideas for stories.
"Do you have any stories that you are working on?" Cel asked. A light lit up on Mort's face and he rushed up the stairs for his laptop to grab what he had been working on before.
"I was working on this when you arrived," he told Cel, "I had just started working on an idea when I heard you knock."
"I'm so sorry for interrupting your writing," Cel said apologetically. She knew how hard it was to begin writing again once one had halted a rush of ideas.
"It's okay," Mort said, "Don't worry." He was just so happy to meet his daughter even if he wasn't sure if she really was his child. Both were silent for a time, Mort typing and Cel eating corn and drinking cocoa.
"So what's your story about?" Cel asked, finally breaking the quite.
"A Nebraska corn farmer. He has the best tasting corn and no one knows why, but he sells it for $3 a cob. Soon after he gets a dog, Maverick, the corn begins to lose its flavor and the farmer doesn't know why."
"It sounds very interesting," Cel stated as she retrieved a notebook from her bag. Both, father and daughter, sat writing for several hours: Mort on the couch and Cel in an armchair. At around ten, Cel looked up at the failing fire and her sleeping father. As Cel's ideas had run out for the night, she kissed her father's forehead and went up to his room to get ready for bed and change into her pink plaid pajama's.
She was home and finally had her father. Her mother might be dead, but it wasn't like Cel would have gotten along well with an adulteress even if Amy was alive as she strongly opposed such things. As she began to drift into slumber, Cel heard footsteps on the stairs. A latch was released and something was pulled from the ceiling, probably the trapdoor to the attic. Up went the footsteps and the door was shut. The person moved around and Cel could hear her father's muffled voice through the ceiling, but speaking both normally and in a Missouri accent. She stood on her bed and cocked her head to listen.
