tmcdermott (terry mcdermott)

What to say.A compulsion that I enjoy as much as need. Writing has always been part of me and I feel that sinking in the pit of your stomach, as I would when I am missing a person, when I don’t write. I journal, have a blog, write poetry, try my hand at short stories (which always seem to have the same story line no matter my intention), write for Photographers Without Borders and made a career of writing. I write a lot.
Compulsion. Without doubt. At times, writing poetry is like a word jet stream and I have to do my best to keep up, to capture the words and phrases, as they whirl by. Other times, I struggle to find words. I put things down, pick them up, turn them around, wonder about them and put them back. But always keep them; returning to them periodically peeking to see if they have somehow transformed. Sometimes they have surprisingly. At times, passion and purpose come as easily as breathing. At other, times I suffocate for the right words. At times, I know what I’m writing about with direction clear. At other times, I believe that I know what something is about but someone else has a completely different interpretation. These are moments that I enjoy; it’s the magic of poetry. Each finds meaning that is personal. As satisfying as tiger ice cream on the hottest summer day.
Why do I write? In the end it’s simple. I need to. If I don’t, I’m a corked, ready-to-break bottle. When I do, whether good or bad, I have a unique fulfillment and purpose. It’s soulful and necessary. It’s a magic that I’ve never found in anything else. While I may go through fallow periods, I will never stop.