Bryan T. Graff
Will Cross is a blues guitar virtuoso who becomes the subject of an article by Matt Forrester, a literature teacher and part time human interest columnist, seeking to discover the origin of Will’s
extraordinary talent. During an interview, Will tells Matt of his musical upbringing in rural Mississippi, and of Luther “Flat Top” Taylor, a church music director and blues guitar master who taught him to play. Years ago, Flat Top had told Will of a night he was offered a deal at a nearby crossroads – musical talent, fame, and fortune in exchange for his soul. While in college, Will received word that his mentor had passed away. After submitting his article, Matt learns that the old bluesman may still be alive. He convinces a reluctant Will to travel to Mississippi in search of him. Will and Matt embark on a journey from North Carolina to Mississippi, on a road shrouded in uncertainty. The road ultimately leads them to the crossroads, where a dark truth is revealed.
Bryan Thomas Graff was born in Buffalo, New York and attended Cortland State College, where he earned a Bachelor's Degree in English Education. He earned a Master's Degree in Gifted Education from the University of North Carolina at Charlotte and teaches high school American Literature and Creative Writing courses. A blues enthusiast, Bryan enjoys playing guitar in a Charlotte area blues club. He has penned one other novel - An Autumn Fall. He and his wife, Christa, call Kannapolis, North Carolina home.
The first note impaled the audience and harkened back to the song’s introduction. Cross then descended into its cavernous reaches, exploring its anguish and obscurity with guttural string bends and loose, deliberate hammers. Gradually, he led the congregation out of this purgatory and took them to perilous heights with dizzying fretwork.The audience retrieved its collective jaw from the blonde hardwood floor, as Cross once again deferred to the group’s frontman for the final verse.
And the rain it keeps fallin’,
just like tears down your window pane.
The rain it keeps fallin’, baby,
just like tears down your window pane.
Open the door. Let this stray dog inside.
Open the door. Let this stray dog inside.
He’s treadin’ water again.
