Today, Feathered Quill reviewer Ephantus Muriuki is talking with Ryan McDermott, author of Downriver: Memoir of a Warrior Poet.

FQ: Hi, Mr. McDermott. Congratulations on your new book. Your story feels incredibly personal. What motivated you to share it publicly?

MCDERMOTT: I was motivated to share my story by a deep desire to help others who might be struggling silently. We often hear statistics about trauma, suicide, and the emotional toll of war—but behind every number is a life, a family, and a story that deserves to be heard. I wanted to offer mine, not as a solution, but as an invitation: to seek help, to start a conversation, to know you’re not alone. If this book encourages even one person to reach out for counseling, or prompts someone to check in on a friend who’s hurting, then it’s done more than I ever hoped for.

FQ: What does the title "Downriver" signify to you, and what inspired it?

MCDERMOTT: “Downriver” signifies the journey I saw unfolding ahead of me at one of the lowest points in my life—a moment of estrangement, disconnection, and deep personal reckoning. When I wrote the poem that gave the book its title, I was sleeping on an air mattress in a room I rented from two strangers, separated from my family and unsure of who I was becoming. The river, for me, became a symbol of that long path toward reclaiming identity and wholeness.

It wasn’t just about moving forward—it required looking back. Understanding how unresolved trauma shaped my choices, how pain rippled into relationships, and how healing had to begin within. A few rivers appear throughout the book—the Hudson by West Point, the Potomac in Washington DC, and the Tigris in Iraq. Each carried its own memory. Rivers inspire me because they’re constant, even as they’re always changing. They shape the land quietly, powerfully—much like the forces that shape a life.

FQ: I did notice how much you love interacting with nature. How did it facilitate your path of self-discovery and recovery?

MCDERMOTT: Nature has always helped me reconnect with a sense of perspective. When you’re surrounded by towering trees, shifting clouds in the skies, or the quiet rhythm of a river, it’s hard not to feel both humbled and grounded. The changing seasons—leaves turning, trees falling, new growth emerging—remind me that nothing stays stuck forever. Everything moves in cycles: decay, renewal, healing.

But beyond symbolism, nature offers stillness. It doesn’t ask anything of you. There’s no judgment, no noise—just space to breathe, reflect, and feel present in the moment. In my own journey, being outdoors gave me that pause I needed to begin seeing things more clearly. And the beauty of it is that it’s free. We all have access to that kind of quiet, even if it’s just sitting under a tree or walking by water.

FQ: Which scene or chapter was the most difficult for you to write, and how did you get beyond that challenge?

MCDERMOTT: The chapter “Foreclosing of a Dream” was by far the most difficult to write. It brought me back to one of the most painful and formative moments of my life—the loss of our home and the emotional collapse of my family. Writing it meant sitting with deep personal grief, but also facing the guilt and regret I carried for not being able to do more for my mother during her moment of personal crisis.

It took years to find the right words—not just because the emotions were raw, but because I wanted to tell the truth with compassion and humility. I had to reckon with my own shortcomings, to see the full picture of what she was enduring. In a way, I couldn’t finish that chapter until I had lived the ones that followed—until I sought reconciliation, came to understand more of her pain, and found space to forgive and to heal. Writing it became part of that process.

FQ: What did poetry enable you to say that prose didn't, and vice versa?

MCDERMOTT: Poetry allowed me to express what I was feeling in the moment—raw, unfiltered, and immediate. It gave shape to emotions that couldn’t be fully articulated through narrative. The rhythm, the cadence, even the silence between lines—they all carry weight. Many of the poems in Downriver were born out of lived experience, written in the thick of it, not after. When I look back at what I wrote in my twenties, I see my younger self reflected honestly—sometimes more honestly than memory allows.

Prose, on the other hand, gave me the structure to step back and make sense of it all. It allowed me to connect the dots, to draw meaning from chaos, and to contextualize the emotion that poetry captured. Where poetry distills the moment, prose builds the world around it. Together, they offered me a way to tell the whole story—both how it felt and how it unfolded.

FQ: Do you have any supporting mentors in your writing path that you would want to recognize?

MCDERMOTT: Yes, I was fortunate to have several mentors who supported my writing journey, many of whom I acknowledge in the book’s Acknowledgment section. Among them, my professors at Darden were particularly influential—especially James Clawson. In a leadership course, Dr. Clawson assigned a reflective writing exercise that unexpectedly reignited my creative voice. He emphasized that self-knowledge is foundational to authentic leadership, and that insight became a gateway for me to begin writing more honestly about my own experiences.

At the time, my manuscript was little more than a raw, unstructured outpouring of emotion—but he read it with care, related to it through his own life story, and encouraged me to keep going. That early encouragement helped me believe the story was worth telling—even before it had fully taken shape.

FQ: Has the process of writing the memoir affected you in any way, and if so, how?

MCDERMOTT: The process of writing this memoir shaped me more than I ever expected. Over the years, it became a way to confront emotions I hadn’t fully understood, to see myself with more honesty—and, at times, more compassion. But I also learned that writing isn’t something you can rush, especially when the subject matter is this personal. I often had to step away to let the story breathe and to gain the perspective I needed to return with clarity.

One of the biggest lessons I took from the process is that life rarely offers perfect closure. There are no clean endings or neat resolutions. What we get instead is a winding, unpredictable journey—and writing helped me see that the key isn’t control, but perspective. That’s what allows us to make peace with the past and move forward with intention.

FQ: Finally, what do you want your followers to take away from your experiences, particularly those who may be experiencing traumatic pain?

MCDERMOTT: I know each reader will bring their own story to this book, and my hope is that they find something in these pages that speaks to their own experience—whether it’s a moment of recognition, a spark of insight, or simply the sense that they’re not alone. For those carrying traumatic pain, I hope Downriver offers a sense of possibility—that pain doesn’t have to define you, but can be a starting point for growth. If there’s one message I’d leave with them, it’s this: your resilience is real, and it can be a foundation for deeper self-knowledge, for healing, and even for hope. Sometimes the hardest chapters in life reveal strength we didn’t know we had.

For more information about Downriver: Memoir of a Warrior Poet, please visit the website: https://downrivermemoir.com

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