(Formerly MichaelWMcDermott.com)
More about moi
The writer
Who is this writer guy?
Neatly side-stepping the whole existential question, I am a writer of mainstream fiction, essays and random rambles on any topic that seizes my attention. I am a child of the Sixties, a believer in the magic that people create together and a student of ethics. As you might discern from my writing my way forward has frequently involved roadblocks, shifting itineraries and occasional treks through deep mud and dark woods. It hasn't always been rewarding or even much fun. Still, I wouldn't change my life's path if I could because it brought me here / now and throughout, I've written. Writing is the thing I do because I simply can't not.
From high school through a hitch in the Navy and the period after, I filled notebooks with poetry and essays, wrote and performed songs in churches and bars and meanwhile, thought about ideas for book-length fiction. This led me in the early 1980s to write By Other Means and Winter, two novels that taught me a lot but were never published. I wrote in the middle of the night on a manual typewriter and also in stolen moments and breaks from my paying jobs on one of the pads of foolscap that were always with me. And lemme tell you – writing and rewriting a 330-page manuscript on a Smith Coronamatic manual-electric is proof positive that the writing bug has taken hold.
In the late 1980s my attention was blissfully redirected toward raising a family, so I had to work to find opportunities to write in the small nooks and crannies of life as father and spouse and wage earner and mower-of-lawns. But always, the stories in my head continued to percolate so that when I finally made a start at The Patent Desk it fairly flowed out the ends of my fingers and onto the page. And now, having endured a round of rejections and with my editorial readers' comments as guideposts, I find myself reframing The Patent Desk while looking forward to the next book, and the next...
Whatever else I might be called, I am and intend to continue to be a writer. But always and evermore, my proudest and most important role is that of husband to Mary and father to our two adult daughters, whose efforts to improve me are ongoing.
The woodworker
Who is this woodworker guy?
Neatly side-stepping the whole existential question, I am a hand tool woodworker, a maker of home furnishings, doodads and both objets and d’arts. Being an inveterate communicator (see the ‘Who is this writer guy’), I can’t help sharing my journey as a craftsman and as you will see, I am entirely unabashed when it comes to showing you both my triumphs and some of my less successful forays into artisanship. Since I made my first whittled set of little lifeboats for a model ship when I was (10?) I have immersed myself whenever possible in making things from wood.
I’ve done carpentry, cabinetmaking, made home furnishings, and lately, have come to enjoy woodturning. There are Habitat for Humanity houses sporting my rooflines, kitchen and bath cabinetry and stairs, Christmas trees adorned with my ornaments, many kids (and some not-kids) wielding my magic wands, etc. There have been droughts when I had little opportunity to put blade to board but I wouldn't change my life's path if I could because it brought me here / now and throughout, I've always come back to the craft. Woodworking is the thing I do because I simply can’t not.
From my first jackknife to my 100-plus-year-old hand planes, I’ve used tools both grand and common, sharpened on flat rocks or diamond stones, measured with both thumb and caliper. My media have included fine mahogany, purpleheart and wenge, but also spruce, fir and unidentified scrap pile finds. I count both first timers and experts as my peers, mentors and students and believe no time spent in the shop is time wasted.
In the late 1980s my attention was blissfully redirected toward raising a family, which turned my attention to evaluating usefulness in choosing my woodworking projects. I built untippable end tables, made each of my daughters her own ‘big girl bed,’ constructed shelves and cabinets, and more. And I learned as I went, slowly adding to both my skills and my tool set. Among my recent projects were a set of cherry nesting tables for one daughter and a curio box of purpleheart and maple for the other. Each of which taught me new hand skills.
Whatever else I might be called, I am and intend to continue to be a worker of wood. But always and evermore, my proudest and most important role is that of husband to Mary and father to our two adult daughters, whose efforts to improve me are ongoing.
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