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United is transforming the flying experience with Bluetooth connectivity, screens, power at every seat, and bigger overhead bins to help fit everyone's bag. And with their app, you can skip the bag check line, get live updates and more. Change the way you fly. Book your next trip today at united.com. Rock is lit. Rock is lit. Rock is lit. Rock is lit. You're listening to Rock is lit with Christy Halberg. Rock on, Christy. (upbeat music) Rock is lit. Hey there, lit listeners. Welcome to season four of Rock is lit. The first podcast devoted to rock novels. And also the 2024 American Writing Awards podcast of the year in the categories of music and arts. Rock is lit is a proud member of the Pantheon Podcast Network. Hey, I'm John Stewart and you're listening to the Pantheon Network. Rock is lit is hosted, executive produced, and edited by me, Christy Alexander Halberg, author of my own rock novel, Searching for Jimmy Page. Big shout out to this season's incredible team. Social media intern Keely Clats and our three production interns, Major Lagulin, Tyler Elcock, and The Air Lower. This season we're shaking things up with a fresh new format. Instead of our usual author interviews, we'll be rolling out a weekly reading series, giving you a deeper dive into the world of rock novels through curated readings and literary explorations. To keep up with all things Rock is Lit, follow me on Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube @ChristyHalberg and @RockisLitpodcast on Instagram. For more info, head to ChristyAlexandherhalberg.com. Got a rock novel you'd like to see featured? Drop me a line at ChristyAlexandherhalberg@gmail.com. I'd love to hear from you. If you're enjoying the show, please subscribe, leave a comment, and give us a five star rating on your favorite podcast platform. Wyatt, the Rock is Lit mascot, and I thank you for your support. (dog barks) (upbeat music) - This is Thomas Calder and you're listening to Rock is Lit. (upbeat music) ♪ Let's go downtown and watch the martin kids ♪ ♪ Let's go downtown and talk to the martin kids ♪ ♪ Let's go downtown and talk to the martin kids ♪ And now here's my fellow Asheville, North Carolinian, Thomas Calder, talking about and reading from his novel, The Wind Under the Door, taken away Thomas. - I earned my MFA at the University of Houston back in 2014. I'm originally from Florida, which is where a portion of the wind under the door takes place, but my parents grew up in Western North Carolina Asheville specifically, and my wife and I moved up here originally in 2011, then I went to the University of Houston for grad school and we came back in 2015, and I started The Wind Under the Door as a short story in grad school, and it slowly became the novel that it is, many, many, many drafts later. And it's a story about a guy, Fort Carson, who is kind of at a midlife crisis. He's turning 40, and has a strange son is on the verge of turning 18. They haven't seen each other in many years, and the story itself is looking at their planned reunion at this point in time in the present day, which is around 2015. Ford is living in Western North Carolina in Asheville, where he's kind of re-imagined himself. He goes from being the owner of a print shop, which he inherited from his father, to a collage artist whose primary work is collage interpretations of songs and albums. So in the midst of preparing for his son's arrival, he meets this woman, Grace Burnett. His son is now living in California. His son is this world-renowned surfer. So as the surfer prodigy is coming to visit Western North Carolina from now California, Ford meets Grace Burnett. She is this woman who's fleeing the dysfunctional marriage. She's married to this very wealthy Texan, and part of the novel is about Ford's affair with this woman, as well as his past relationship with his son, and Grace's past relationship with her estranged husband. And a lot of the story is about memory. A lot of the story is about the ways in which we kind of repeat ourselves and the mistakes that we make, especially those mistakes that we don't interrogate. So I think that's a synopsis in an up-shell. And you know, the book is looking at what happens when these two different forces, Grace Burnett, and her estranged husband, and Ford, and his estranged son when all these forces come together. The story took so many different forms. It started out vastly different. The Ford character was much younger in early drafts. He wasn't an artist, he worked at a used car lot. The core was always this relationship between Ford and at one point Bailey was his brother. But then as I went through the drafting process, I found that the tension intensified with a father-son dynamic as opposed to a brother-brother dynamic in part 'cause for anyone who has a brother, which I do, I think it's par for the course that you're gonna mess each other up and you're gonna ruin each other's self-esteem or, you know, the older brother's gonna ruin the younger brother's self-esteem or vice versa, I guess it really doesn't matter the order. But a father-son dynamic, you know, like it. Ford as a character is very deeply flawed and the idea of somebody being so selfish as to putting themselves before their child really amped up the tension within the novel. I think anyone who's written a book, the most challenging part is just sustaining the momentum, right? I mean, I wrote honestly, I don't know how many drafts, probably over 20, because it's, again, it started as a short-storing grad school. My professor, the writer, Robert Boswell, it was a assignment. He did in a forms class. He had really kind things to say about the character. He said about the grace and Ford character, like these two characters aren't done with each other yet. And so that inspired me to expand upon it after I graduated. While in grad school, I wrote mini drafts to another novel that never came out. And so the wind under the door was kind of, the way I operate is, you know, go through the query process, get really bummed out and depressed and discouraged. And eventually I just realized I just need to write. So I'll start writing something new. And that's kind of how the wind under the door started. - This episode is brought to you by United Airlines. When you want to make the most of your vacation, book with United, they're an airline that cares about your travels as much as you do. United is transforming the flying experience with Bluetooth connectivity, screens, power at every seat and bigger overhead bins to help fit everyone's bag. And with their app, you can skip the bag check line, get live updates and more. Change the way you fly. Book your next trip today at united.com. - Start your electric journey right here, right now. With a Volvo XC90 recharge, our plug-in hybrid SUV with extended range. For more everyday electric journeys on a single charge, with a hybrid option for longer adventures. Contact your local retailer to book a test drive or design your own vehicle at VolvoCars.com/US, the Volvo XC90 recharge plug-in hybrid, the electric car with a backup plan. - Ryan Reynolds here for, I guess, my hundredth mint commercial. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, I mean, honestly, when I started this, I thought I'd only have to do like four of these. I mean, it's unlimited premium wireless for $15 a month. How are there still people paying two or three times that much? I'm sorry, I shouldn't be victim blaming here. Give it a try at midmobile.com/save whenever you're ready. - $45 up from payment equivalent to $15 per month. New customers on first three month plan only. Taxes and fees extra. Speed slower above 40 gigabytes of CD-Tails. (upbeat music) ♪ In the suburbs out ♪ ♪ A road to drive ♪ ♪ And a tummy will never survive ♪ - I play guitar. I used to play in a band. Musicians to me are like the modern day cowboy. They wonder, they travel. I don't know if that influenced the creation of this book. My personal experience with music. Arcade fires, the suburbs certainly has themes that tie into the wind under the door. Again, Ford is a collage artist who interprets songs and albums through his collage work. And as Bailey's coming to visit, Ford decides he's gonna interpret the entirety of arcade fires, the suburbs, their 2010 album, The Suburbs. He's gonna interpret that entire album 'cause it's his son's favorite band. And he's gonna create this beautiful collage. So the suburbs funk is very present in the novel. And then there's a fictional band. He's interpreting an album for Grace 'cause Grace Burnett, they meet because she comes to him to do some collage work. So he's interpreting this fictional band. That in the novel obviously is a real band, but it's a fictional band in real life. And the band's music kind of helped create some nice layers to the overall novel. I'm not a collage artist, but I made one collage per chapter, 14 chapters in an epilogue. So I made 15 collages based on a single line from each chapter. And then I also picked an album per collage. It was just a fun activity to experiment with. I don't really listen to music when I write, although the project I'm working on right now takes place in the 30s. So I guess I lied 'cause I do listen to some 30s jazz, but it's like instrumental. I can't listen to people singing 'cause I end up inevitably listening to the music, but I did a playlist. So I do have this playlist on my website under the blog section and it's called playlist. Chapter one, Nina Simone, I put a spell on you. Chapter two, Arcade Fire, The Suburbs. Chapter three, Frank Sinatra, That's Life. Chapter four, Bruce Springsteen, State Trooper. Chapter five, Bob Dylan, Tangled Up in Blue. Chapter six, The Strokes, Reptilia. Chapter seven, Peter Matthew Bowers, Latin American, Phishionis. Great song, not as well known. It should be chapter eight. Hamilton, Lighthouser, and Rostham, When the Truth Is. Chapter nine, Patsy Kline, Lonely Street. Chapter 10, Jim James, New Life. Chapter 11, Angel Olson, Intern. Chapter 12, Modest Mouse, Dance Hall. Chapter 13, we only got three more here, folks. Michael Koanuka, Cold Little Heart. Chapter 14, Arcade Fire, Reflector. In chapter 15, The Epilogue. The Walkman, Don De Esta La Playa. That's probably more than you all ever needed to know, but if you want to actually listen to those songs, you could go to my website, Thomas-Caldor.com. And again, that's under the blog section. Where I'll be reading here from the one under the door, it's not the beginning chapter. It's actually a variety of sections that are in multiple chapters, but they're all tied to one of the key storylines, which my main character, Ford Carson, is kind of going through this crisis throughout the novel, where his estranged son, Bailey, is turning 18. He's coming to visit him for the first time in many years. And Ford's kind of reflecting on his past marriage to Emily. Emily's second marriage to the sky, Timothy Warwick, and how that marriage impacted his relationship with his son. Back story, after the novel came out, I created a short story version of this particular thread of the novel and juked published it. But in order for it to work as a standalone story, I added a little part at the end. So I'm going to do this weird thing where I'm reading primarily from the novel, but at the very end, I'm going to read from the short story version. So again, all you need to know is this part, takes place in the early 2010s, some of the portions go back to the '90s. (upbeat music) (upbeat music) (upbeat music) (upbeat music) (upbeat music) (upbeat music) (upbeat music) (upbeat music) (upbeat music) (upbeat music) (upbeat music) (upbeat music) Timothy Warwick, Emily's second husband, always struck Ford as the type of guy who laughed out loud while reading in public. She and Timothy got together shortly after she and Ford split. Ford remembered getting the news. Emily must have stopped herself 10 times to repeat the fact that she was only telling Ford for Bailey's sake, that it was none of Ford's business otherwise, but that she didn't want Bailey to feel like he had to keep secrets from his dad. Timothy was a lawyer. He and Ford were formally introduced at one of Bailey's surfing competitions in Cocoa Beach, Florida. Timothy had these watery blue eyes, half concealed by droopy eyelids that looked like coagulated wax. Timothy didn't cheer much that first day, a couple nervous claps at most, but over the ensuing months he grew comfortable, until finally his support found voice. Once it did, Ford spent most of his son's competitions watching this strange man shout his boy's name. A shark's upper jaw isn't fused to its head. That's what allows it to open its mouth so wide. And that's what Ford pictured every time Timothy cheered. He looked like a shark devouring some invisible prey. Early on, Ford tried not to pry into his ex-wife's new life, but on certain nights when the headlines red dull and the commercials kept rolling and he'd scrolled past every desperate status update from every desperate old high school pal, it succumbed. At first, the spine reassured him. On Emily's feed, there was no mention of her new shark jawed bow. Clearly they weren't serious. But shark man's absence soon made Ford uneasy. What if, unlike all the others trying to post their lives into meaningful existence, Emily and shark man didn't need the sort of desperate online confirmation? Ford's fear was briefly mitigated once shark man did start appearing. Clearly they were miserable. Who else shares an entire album of bowling alley pictures? But before long a new problem emerged, Ford couldn't put shark man away. He tried laughing off most of what he discovered. Shark man was not merely an attorney, but also the shoeless front man of an acoustic middle-aged three-piece rock band called New Day Rising. Ford acted for his own private benefit, like it was an accident when he clicked the link to New Day Rising's MySpace page. Pictures appeared that he hadn't anticipated. Emily and Bailey off to the right of a small coffee shop stage smiling as New Day Rising performed its latest set. All the while shark man's vocals came through Ford's computer speakers and pants and moans, a shameless albeit failed attempt to sound like Bono. His lyrics were what drove Ford to close out of the sight. Your beauty lack of rose, sweet darling. Your soft petals, my milky way. Now we're gonna jump a couple chapters. Here we go. This portion is now looking at Ford and Emily's early relationship. They had been each other's first and like all firsts, they shouldn't have extended beyond high school, but they had. Even after Emily moved five hours north to study English and Gainesville. They initially took turns visiting each other until Emily's workload impeded her travels. Ford tried convincing her to get the books on tape to listen to on her drive down the turnpike. I'm not up here reading John Grisham novels. She informed him. I didn't say you were. You don't respect what I do. Yes I do, Ford said. You do what? I respect what you do. I couldn't do it. What couldn't you do? Read all those books. They briefly split up that spring. Ford drank a lot and thought about dating, but held out hope that they would get back together. That what they needed was just what she'd claimed, space. Emily had other plans. Ford had met his replacement, a pretentious little bastard with a real heart on for the word kitsch at a party prior to their split. At the time Ford didn't know what kitsch meant. Emily did, or at least she laughed each time kitsch boy said it. Eventually Ford laughed too. This, no doubt, had been kitsch boys' plan all along. What's so funny, kitsch boy asked? It was late. The party was dying down. What he said, Ford answered. Why is it funny, kitsch boy insisted? Because it's true, what's true? It's very kitsch, Ford said. What's kitsch? Everything on that table, no kitsch boy said. I mean literally, what does kitsch mean? Ford thumbed the lip of his beer bottle. You don't know what it means. It means go fuck yourself, Ford said. Jesus, Emily whispered. Kitsch boy laughed before wishing Emily a good evening. That's how he said it too, good evening. He then looked at Ford and shook his head, offering a contemptuous huff. Ford charged him. He could still see the transformation from the smug to the terrified. Kitsch boy had been raised on a promise that if you kept a certain class of friends, you could patronize and critique to your heart's content without the slightest fear of a true human response. That had always been Ford's issue with Emily's college friends. They could theorize every aspect of life. They could deconstruct and reference the esoteric, but they didn't know shit. Emily was horrified. She thought Ford had smashed his beer bottle over Kitsch boy's head. In reality, Kitsch boy had nicked his forehead on the doorknob as he fell back. And if there's one thing, a head's good for its bleeding. So it bled and Emily yelled and another party goer helped Kitsch boy up and Emily took him to the hospital. Ford stayed behind. The party's host insisted that he leave, but Ford had nowhere to go. He ended up sleeping on the couch. At five in the morning, Emily woke him. By then he'd forgotten about the entire frockus. Forgot he was sleeping on a stranger's couch. He asked Emily what they were doing. She told him he ought to go home. Of course, Kitsch boy didn't last. The summer arrived and Emily returned to Dania. She and Ford reconciled. It was the summer of '96, but it felt like they'd time traveled back to their first meeting on the beach. Only they managed to stretch that feeling the entire 12 weeks. They talked about marriage and kids and the places they would go and the things they'd see and all the other stuff you say during the summer when nothing is quite as real as the fall, winter, and spring. When Emily returned to Gainesville, so too did her impatience and dissatisfaction. This time around though, her focus broadened. It didn't apply exclusively to Ford, but to everyone, particularly herself. Nevertheless, they managed to make it to winter, then spring. Do you realize how easy we have it, she asked Ford? This became Emily's mantra throughout her sophomore year. Back then, she held the general contempt for all of life's advantages. An insistence on a world unbalanced, a world corrupt, a world completely fucked. But over time, the veneer cracked. Her outrage had little to do with the system and everything to do with herself. She decided to become a writer. But what exactly did she have to write about? What insights could the daughter of a litigator offer the world? Where did six years of horse camp fall into the sort of narrative she'd dreamt necessary to truly claim a voice? What inspiration did she have to draw from what struggles had she faced? She never voiced her concerns outright. If anything, she projected her fears onto Ford. Don't you get scared, she asked? You literally don't know anything outside of Dania and all that you do know has already happened. You'll be following in your dad's footsteps, even though you already know how that story goes. It's a family business. Only if you continue it, she said. It makes sense to if you're looking for the easy way out. It'll benefit us both, he said. Emily fell silent. He knew then he was losing her again. Only this time it felt less personal. He sensed her loss. She didn't wanna lose him, but it was beyond her control. This was the final day of spring break and they both knew it was goodbye. And so they drank a proper farewell and stumbled to the beach and fucked under the pier and listened to the waves and said silly things and laughed and cried and took turns saying pretty things to help the other one stop crying. It all felt right. Ford remembered being okay with it then, knowing that it was the end, but that they would see each other again in different lives and under different circumstances, that the transition would be the hardest part. But once they got through that, all would be fine. Emily returned in May. They hadn't spoken since their farewell night. She found him inside his father's print shop. He stood behind the counter, entering payments. She remained by the door, peering out its front window onto A1A. Her face reflected off the glass. At first, her focus stayed on the traffic. Then she looked toward his reflection in the window. They stared at each other through the glass, neither moved. She must have been deciding things. The door stood two feet away. Ford still didn't know what gesture he made, but whatever he'd done caused her to smile. It wasn't a broad smile by any means. If anything, it was more in her eyes than her lips, and maybe it had nothing to do with Ford. Maybe it was the fact that she'd accepted the situation. Maybe it was the smile of surrender. I'm pregnant, Emily told him. Now there's this next thing that I'm gonna read, and this is fast-forwarding back into time, into the kind of the closer present moment. And here we go. This is, well, it's kind of self-explanatory. His ex-wife and shark man left Dania two years after they wed, relocating with Bailey to Coco Beach. It only makes sense, Emily told Ford several months before the move. We're spending practically every weekend up there for the waves. We got waves down here too, Ford said. I don't think you realize how committed your son is. You're moving to Coco Beach, Ford said, I think I realize. Have you considered she asked? I'm not selling the business. Then I guess that settles things, she said. We'll meet halfway every other weekend. For a period, the distance improved Ford's relationship with his son, and Bailey's absence, the ocean took on a deeper meaning. It became a giant blanket that held them together, stretching the entire 188 miles between Dania and Coco Beach. Ford committed to surfing every day, along with riding the waves. He sought out documentaries, films, magazines, and books on the sport. His efforts briefly paid off. Bailey not only seemed to listen to Ford's ideas, he also appeared to actually consider and enjoy what his father had to say. If you pay attention, it'll show you things, Ford promised his son. What we're doing is way more than a sport. I mean, think about it. And totality, we're actually riding waves for less than 10% of the time. And when we do catch one, it's what, seven, eight seconds? But we don't think of it that way, do we? Why would we? By 13, Bailey's interest in his father's meditations came to an abrupt and critical end. Nobody gives a fuck, he shouted, during a weekend visit to Dania. The exclamation startled Ford. Not so much the words, but his son's tone. He didn't recognize Bailey's voice. And though he knew this day would come, he never actually expected it to arrive. And if you surf them more than you talk them, maybe I won't have to catch so much shit from everybody about my weirdo dad, Bailey continued. Ford's throat clenched. I didn't realize your friends think I'm weird. Well, you are, Bailey assured him, grabbing his board and heading for the water. That afternoon, they took the turnpike north to Port St. Lucie, the halfway point between Dania and Coco Beach. Neither spoke the entire ride. "Mom wants to talk to you," Bailey finally said, as Ford pulled into a parking space at the rest stop. About what Ford asked, looking over at his son. Bailey shook his head, staring down at his hands. She just wants to talk, he said. Ford was incensed. An hour and a half drive, and Bailey couldn't have given him a prior heads up. Emily approached the car, opening the passenger side door. Bailey immediately asked if he should go get ice cream. Ford would remember the question later on, because his son hadn't asked for ice cream. He had specifically asked his mother if he should go get ice cream, like it was punishment. Emily hurried him the money. Ford instinctively called after him, fearful to be alone with his ex-wife. But Bailey was gone, Ford faced Emily. The wind blew her dirty blonde hair to the side, briefly concealing her right eye. I'm pregnant, she said. He could no longer look at her. Even though he knew by not looking at her, he revealed just as much, if not more. He hadn't expected the news to hit him the way it had. He hadn't expected the news at all. The tips of his fingers tingled. He finally had the sense to offer his congratulations. Emily's arms uncrossed, hanging listlessly at her sides. For a brief moment, it looked as if she might reach for him. Of course, she didn't. They stood there awkwardly before they both nodded uncertain. She then confessed that she'd been nervous all weekend about how he'd handled the news. With that, they said their goodbyes. Ford drove back to Dana in silence. The yellow remains of dragonflies gathered on his windshield. The sky was dark by the time he took his exit. He remembered thanking it before half wishing he'd said it. But the opportunity had long since passed. So instead, he screamed the words inside his car. I thought you didn't want more kids. And that takes us to the next and final section from another chapter. This last part again, most of it's from the novel, but I'm gonna offer an extended director's cut, a short story version of this particular scene. Throughout their marriage, he drank. Initially, Emily made light of it. She'd give him nicknames like cowboy and say things like slow down cowboy. But on nights when cowboy didn't slow down, she ditched the pet name and reminded him of a pending work deadline. Her insist he was going to wake Bailey or lambast him over the fact that it was a fucking Tuesday night. Is this really how you wanna spend the rest of your life she once asked? That's how I relax. No, it's how you mask. She said, how I mask your work, our marriage, everything. She said, you aren't happy. I'm not happy and we'll never be happy. Not here and not if you keep this up. Near the end of their marriage, she began lining his previous evening's bottles in front of the coffee maker, requiring Ford to move the messide each morning to brew a pot. He ignored the signal, treating it instead as an inconvenience, mumbling that if she hated the mess so much, why not just take the extra step and throw them away herself? His drinking worsened once they split and worsened still once Emily and Bailey moved to Cocoa Beach. He didn't hit rock bottom though until Emily invited him to speak at Bailey's eighth grade career day. Ford arrived at the middle school tipsy. He checked his eyes in the rear view mirror as he folded a piece of gum into his mouth. Across the parking lot, he spotted shark man's Volvo with its goddamn new day rising bumper sticker. The thought of shark man in the audience infuriated Ford. He considered leaving and said he took another swig and fusing the whiskey into a stick of peppermint gum. "You must be Mr. Carson," a woman's voice called as he entered the classroom. Ford didn't respond. He focused on Emily who sat alone in the back row. The swig had improved his outlook. He was ready to stare shark man down, but now there was no shark man, just his ex-wife, and she refused to acknowledge him. "Mr. Carson," the same voice called out, "please join us." He turned toward the speaker. The teacher smiled and waved him forward. Shark man was seated among the presenters. He nodded quietly in Ford's direction. Ford spit his gum into the trash bin and proceeded to the front. Shark man played opener. He spent the first five minutes discussing his law practice and the second five minutes promoting his band. He must have said new day rising 15 times within that brief window. Near the end of his talk, he surprised the class with burned copies of the group's latest home recording. Ford watched in horror as Bailey smiled, nodding at a classmate knowingly. Did his son actually like new day rising? Did he think shark man was anything more than just a sad middle-aged wannabe bono? Fucking bullshit, Ford muttered. "What's wrong with you?" a fellow presenter chided him. Ford turned to the offended woman. She wore a white lab coat. It's ridiculous, he insisted. This is career day. Why should we have to suffer through this guy's pipe dream? That's somebody's father, the woman said in a sharp whisper. "No, Ford said, that's the best part, he's not." The woman turned away from Ford, ending the conversation. After the music was distributed, Shark man held up one of the CDs and waved it in the air. This, he said, is important. And I say it not because it's my music. The reason I offer you this is because I think it's crucial to remind children that you aren't defined by your profession. I'm not merely Timothy Warwick the lawyer, I'm also Timothy Warwick the musician, the gardener, the grillmaster, the husband, the father, and maybe even the guy who can't say no to chocolate. The class laughed like a well-trained studio audience. Even Bailey got in on it. Shark man aided up smiling and looking out onto the crowd. But in all seriousness, he continued still holding the CD above his head. Even if you don't like my songs, keep that message in mind because it's your passions and how you share these passions that count the most. That's my spiel, thank you and rock on. The class applauded. Ford glared at Emily. Had this been her ploy the whole time to force Ford to drive three hours north to listen to her husband's beaming outlook, the clapping continued as Shark man made his way to the back of the room. When the teacher called Ford's name, he didn't respond. He looked away from Emily and Shark man. The two spoke and nodded and waved to Bailey before exiting the classroom together. "You're up," the woman in the white lab coat said, shooing Ford away. It took a handful of guided questions to get Ford going. Even then it was a distracted talk. Well, Mr. Carson, maybe you could tell us the hardest part about owning a business, the teacher suggested. Emily stepped back into the classroom. Ford's pulse quickened. He waited for Shark man to follow, but Emily closed the door gently behind her. The hardest part of owning a business, he repeated the question aloud for Emily's benefit, the teacher nodded. Emily sat down. For a brief moment, they made eye contact. She offered something like a smile, perhaps taking pity on what must have appeared in a qualified speaker. Within that split second, Ford imagined a bizarre universe where they were still married. And while certainly not a perfect marriage, not even in the bizarre version, she'd come to watch and support him on career day. There's a lot of sacrifice, Ford said. Bailey dragged an eraser back and forth across the surface of his desk. He hadn't been that way when Shark man spoke. He'd listened. You have to sacrifice, Ford repeated, practically shouting the words at his son. Bailey continued to grind away his eraser. I, of course, inherited the business, Ford continued. It was my father's, and that's something that's often misunderstood. People assume inheritance is the equivalent of a gift. And now, I'm not gonna stand here and deny that altogether. You gotta leg up when you inherit a business. But there are downsides, just like with everything in life. The truth is nothing comes easy. That's something I think is worth noting. When you're young, people try and sell you certain narratives. Do this, that, and the other thing, and everything else will fall into place. But that's never the case. There is no place, no equation for life. He paused, frustrated with Bailey, who had yet to acknowledge his presence. "See, I surf a lot like my son," Ford said, pointing at his boy. "The class turned their heads in unison to study Bailey. "At first, Ford thought they didn't know Bailey surfed. "A short-lived theory. "Behind Emily hung a framed newspaper article "about Bailey's recent first place finish. "Ford stared at the article "while the class continued to stare at his son. "Ford understood, then, "that they looked toward Bailey at a confusion. "They hadn't realized Ford was his father. "My name is Ford Carson," he shouted, "Bailey Carson is my son. "Well, thank you, Mr. Carson," the teacher said, "I'm not finished, Ford," insisted. All the kids had snapped forward. Even Bailey briefly looked up. Emily stared Ford down. He stared her back before continuing. It's like I tell my son when we're out there on the water. Life is the ocean. I mean, you're talking this massive body of water with waves coming at you, and these waves you're seeing, that's only the half of it. Underneath the surface is an equally strong current thrashing you about, and beneath that and farther out, there's an entire history of shipwrecks and sharks and oil spills and lost treasures. You're swimming among the living and the dead and the deadly, and that's the thing with the business. There are so many unseen variables. It requires Emily stood, making her way toward the door. Only then did Ford notice her slight bump. Everything slowed as he stared at her profile. Was this why she'd invited him? Had this been the plan all along? Or had she not even thought to tell him, had he become that much of an afterthought? The subsequent realization nearly broke him. He was now officially outnumbered. Shark-man would have two kids to his wand, and Ford's wand was more like a half. He looked at Bailey, who'd returned to dragon his eraser across the surface of his desk. Shark-man was making Ford irrelevant. My best advice, Ford said, quickening his word to reach Emily before her departure would be to not have children. If you really want to make a go at what you want to do, don't get yourself locked in. Who knows what we could have been? Maybe I could have been something good. Hell, you could have been a writer. Emily turned around throwing her hands up in disbelief. Why, she mouthed? Why? Not that kids are a bad thing, Ford said. That's not what I meant. All I mean, Emily walked out the door. That's it, Ford told the teacher. He nodded at the woman in the white lab coat. You're up. Well, thank you, Mr. Carson. The teacher said, let's, well, yes, let's give Mr. Carson a round of applause. A few of the kids obliged. Bailey continued erasing his desk. Ford left the classroom, expecting Emily to accost him in the hall, but she wasn't there. He made his way to the parking lot, thinking maybe he'd find her outside, but the parking lot was empty, too. That evening, Ford sat alone under the Daniel Beach pier. It was where he and Emily first met years ago, high school sweethearts. They'd spent the afternoon wandering the shoreline in search of sea glass. By days in, they sat in silence, watching the pelicans nose dive. Ford removed his shoes, digging his toes into the sand. They should never have made it past high school, he thought. He unbuttoned his shirt, but Bailey, he remembered. Yes, Bailey. Ford unbuckled his belt and slipped out of his pants. Naked, he eased into the still water, dunking his head into its cold body. He swam out until he couldn't touch bottom. Relaxing, he floated on his back. His eyes locked in on the half moon. For a moment, he imagined the shipwrecks and sharks and oil spills and lost treasures that existed somewhere beneath him. The waves of quashing, daddy, the quashing, Bailey had called out to Ford years ago. They are Ford agreed, looking at Emily for guidance. She smiled. "Why they quashing, daddy?" Bailey asked, staring out onto the water. "They just do," Ford said. Emily rested her head against Ford's shoulder. "Where do they go after they quash?" They go back into the ocean and become new waves. Emily locked her arms around Ford's waist. Bailey pressed into his father's leg. Ford rested his cheek against Emily's forehead and ran his fingers through Bailey's hair. The three stared out onto the water. Something grazed against Ford's leg. His pulse quickened and stinkively he lowered his body into the water treading. He drifted farther than he'd realized. The shore was a good 50 yards in. He waited anticipating serrated teeth, a thrashing bite, five seconds, 10 seconds, half a minute. When nothing came, he forced his body to relax. It was the only way he'd make it back a shore. Once again, he lay parallel with the water. He was fine, he told himself. Nothing could harm him now. And nothing did. And it felt awful knowing this about himself. [Music] [Music] Thanks for tuning in, listeners. If you enjoyed the show, please subscribe and leave a rating and comment on Good Pods and Apple Podcast, links in the show notes. Wyatt, the rock is lit mascot and I really appreciate your support. Until next time, keep rockin' and readin' and gettin' lit. Rock is lit. [Music] [BLANK_AUDIO]
In the latest Season 4 episode of the Rock is Lit Reading Series, author Thomas Calder takes us into the heart of his poignant novel, ‘The Wind Under the Door’. Set against the vibrant backdrop of contemporary Asheville and the majestic North Carolina mountains, the story follows Ford Carson as he navigates love, family, and artistic reinvention. At forty, Ford has forged a new life as a visual artist in the mountains of North Carolina. A chance meeting with Grace Burnett leads to a burgeoning love affair. But the romance is complicated by Grace’s estranged husband and the unexpected arrival of Ford’s own estranged son. Asheville’s cultural and physical landscapes shape the narrative, with the music of Arcade Fire as an emotional and thematic thread woven throughout the story.
Tune in to hear an excerpt from this beautifully nuanced story and gain insight into the creation of a book that, as author Wiley Cash says, “is a love letter to our reckless hopeful moments and dangerous impulses.”
Thomas Calder earned his MFA in creative writing from the University of Houston. His work has appeared in ‘Gulf Coast’, ‘Miracle Monocle’, ‘The Collagist’, and elsewhere. He lives in Asheville, North Carolina with his wife, daughter, and dog. ‘The Wind Under the Door’ is his debut novel.
MUSIC IN THE EPISODE IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE:
Rock is Lit theme music
[Guitar Instrumental Beat] Sad Rock [Free Use Music] Punch Deck—“I Can’t Stop”
Arcade Fire “Rococo”
Arcade Fire “The Suburbs”
Arcade Fire “Reflektor”
Arcade Fire “Empty Room”
[Guitar Instrumental Beat] Sad Rock [Free Use Music] Punch Deck—“I Can’t Stop”
Rock is Lit theme music
LINKS:
Leave a rating and comment for Rock is Lit on Goodpods: https://goodpods.com/podcasts/rock-is-lit-212451
Leave a rating and comment for Rock is Lit on Apple Podcasts: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rock-is-lit/id1642987350
Thomas Calder’s website: https://www.thomas-calder.com/
Thomas Calder’s playlist for ‘The Wind the Door’: https://www.thomas-calder.com/new-page-3
Thomas Calder on Facebook: @ThomasCalder
Thomas Calder on Instagram: @t.calder
Christy Alexander Hallberg’s website: www.christyalexanderhallberg.com
Christy Alexander Hallberg on Twitter, Instagram & YouTube: @ChristyHallberg
Rock is Lit on Instagram: @rockislitpodcast
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