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Welcome

This blog makes up a collection of all of my writings.

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Writer's Bio

When it has come to writing, up until recently I have always swayed from it. In the past years I have tried to and enjoyed the process, but up unit recently has been the only time when it really stook. Since it has only been recently that I found a deep connection to the process. Recently with the stories I wrote I began to find the uniqueness in my voice, an unabashed personal style that I am still developing. With that being why I wrote and plan to write even more to fully develop my own sense of style.

Personal Writer Theory

When It comes to writing, I do it to express ideas. One of my favorite things about communication has always been expressing whatever idea has been rattling in my head. Whether the idea be a concept for a story, situation, or for a character. I have fond that writing out these ideas has been a fun and fulfilling process, which has helped me take a seat back and serve as a nice reprieve. The process has been the same for some time, usually when I have an idea I will first write it down in some form. Then as time goes on I will add the idea with anything new that comes to mind. Then once I have enough. Then recently I would develop the idea further by trying writing techniques like freewriting. Once I have done that than I will try to work up a basic structure of the story, get basic idea of when and what happens in the story. A structure that I can work with, fill in, or change if need be I begin writing out the story.

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Name Poem

I am called Ryan

Their are a million with the same name

So when I hear Bryan

My ears perk up

Turning me into a bird,

With my own special call.

Which draws my attention every time

But, isolates me from the crowd

When any they want Me.

The meaning for the call

It's unclear, when there is a herd

But If it's just one Ryan

Then the meaning is clear

When I hear Ryan

Though

It’s the one word that I know

Nearly, 

Everything about

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Color Poem(Question Around Teal)

     Teal was put on a pedestal

Higher than each color, 

When I declared it my favorite

I have questioned, why though

Why does Teal grab my attention

Why did it become my favorite

Was it because the sight of teal was soothing.

Was it because of the ocean,

Where every beach I went

Every memory with friends

Teal surrounded me when I entered the water

Splashed my friends, laughing with them

Is it the emotion that made me feel

The serenity of the color

Since Teal is in

The wings of the butterfly

As it adds further vibrant color the flower it crouches on

Or the stilted pictures of the northern lights

Revealing the natural neon signs of the sky

The beaches and ocean

The vibrancy of Teal’s addition in a natural display

Never seems to be the reason.

Since the vision of Teal is enough

There is no grand reason

No matter how much I think and ponder

I always keep with the question though.

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Sideline Camera

I am there for the gatherings

There for the family moments

A part

Of each event, but

Not really in the moment

Since a camera only serves as permanent witness

I’m there to witness everything

Taking each important picture

Holding the images of every

Important event where someone graduated, faltered, or 

Whatever else of necessary notation 

The best pictures though

Always seemed to be the close ups

When I was just positioned at the right 

Distance, not to close 

But never at the sidelines

I need to start asking about being in better positions

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Running Away From Him

I see him coming, so I ran

I open each door and find a new room

He is always behind me, stopping never

He only Relenting until I leapt

I open a new door, and find a courtyard

Calm, Peaceful seemingly empty of people

“He” only relenting until I’m dead

I’m dead since he appeared again.

Calm, Peaceful seemingly full of people

As the car drove to the dead end

I’m dead again since he appeared again

So, I leave, jump over the dead end and run

As the boat entered the harbor

I woke up, and saw him waiting 

So, I leapt, jumping over the side and swam

I see him coming, still, so I wait.

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Delayed Visit

Ryan Lumpkin

Professor Adler

Creative Writing 005

23 July 2022

The Delayed Visit

    There is a mountain range which appointed itself at the edge of society. With the constant mist and dizzying heights of the mountains, it attracted everyone that needed a sense of isolation. Which any visitor feeling completely by themselves, but still never feel in danger with the presence of the village where every mountain trail leads.

     As two men wake down one of these trails. One dressed in the appropriate hiking clothes for their jaunt through the countryside, except for the lack of bags or gear needed for the trip up there. While the other wore an overcoat and suit in the same fashion as a father trying to look good at his kid’s career day presentation, with his hiking boots seemingly being the only thing on him ready for the mountains. They both look ahead to see the trails gently slopes towards a village at the base of the mountain.

“Isn’t that the village you made us stop at last time,” said the man wearing hiking gear.

“Yes, it seems so Alexander, hopefully they will have a good place to sleep for the night,” responded the man in the overcoat. 

“It must have been ages since we last visited, Zander do you think they will remember us?”

” Maybe,” then Xander taking a look at Alexander, fitted out with the most up to date hiking outfit, responds with, “but considering how much our image has changed each generation, I would say no.”

     At this point in the trail, Xander took a look at the town and saw a perfect angle with every detail illuminated. As the man with the hiking gear finishes his sentence, he notices that they are nearly there. The town being older, rustic in appearance with the majority of the houses being made out of wood. There were no new buildings from the 20th century, with each building being rather in surprisingly good condition. Besides homes and the assembly hall at the center of the town, the only noticeable different building was the one two story building that served as the town’s only hotel.

     “Well then I hope their image of the us is quite brilliant,” Once Alexander finished this sentence he looked back and noticed Xander eying the layout of the village.

     Thinking that through their years together how its best to leave Xander to his preparations, Alexander decided to wait a moment and take out his camera for documentation of their return trip.

     Once Xander was done with his silent musings, and Alexander was done with his pictures.

     By the time the pair made it down it was nearly dark, so in response they both decided that it would be for the best to check in at the hotel for the night. After the pair had not eaten anything at all up until that point, they were both glad to find that the inn prepared dinner for its guests. A luxurious feast littered with the types of food hearty food expected of such a mountain community. So, they gladly partook, and ate each of the meals with complete thanks to the old couple that took care of the meals. Then going up to their rooms take, and were both happily surprised of the fully stocked toiletries. Both finding themselves so tired that they just immediately went to sleep in their dirty clothes leaving the toiletries they stashed inside.

     After some hours passed Alexander woke, he first feeling kind of terrible for dirtying the bed. Since he knew that he would not be the one to fix the bed, which he only felt for the first second before he felt the cold metal he was lying on.

     This surprise then led him to look around to see that he was in a cage that had been positioned in the middle of a stage. But with the curtains drawn he was unsure of whether unsure of if it was really a stage or he was hallucinating from whatever drug they probably put into the food. 

     After his look around he had found that Xander had woken up right beside him. Which surprised Alexander with such a fright that he had shot abruptly up and hit his head against the roof of their metal cage.

”, Alexander, do you know where we are,” said the Xander.

“I think a stage, but that is the only piece of information I have gathered so far,” responded Alexander.

     The man in the overcoat began to pick himself up from laying on the floor to a sitting position, where he went to check his pockets. 

     Alexander then asked, “Did they leave anything in your pockets, something small.”

     The man in the overcoat responded, “Luckily no, but with incriminating evidence in one’s pocket it seems they never thought to look for the hairpin in my shoe.” Alexander then took of his shoe to reveal the hairpin he had left inside.

     Alexander then took apart the hair pin to form a lockpick. With tool in hand Alexander began to look hopefully for whatever lock was holding them inside the cage. While Xander took a quick moment to ponder why the village would lock them up. Luckily for both of them there was a lockable lock situated at the top of the cage.

     At midnight every villager came out of their house, each wearing matching robes that completely covered each member head to toe. There were tall robes, short robes, partially covered robes, but each one was heading towards the assembly hall. Each one walking in the calm matter that comes from monthly rituals. Each villager once arrived at the entrance to the hall, forming a line in wait.

     The hall doors open, letting each villager take their set in the rows of pews situated in the building. The silence is only broken once the sound of the headmaster of the village walking to the front of all the pews.

     In the eyesight of everyone he started to proclaim, “that ever since the flood, ever since my grandfather was saved, we have been under the protection of the gods. But ever since the gods chose to show us their desire, their need for sacrifice through the relentless tragedies and plagues the village suffered. So with deep disgust, and respect for the gods we will now begin the sacrifices.” Except the speech continued as the headmaster began to go into a more detailed account of each tragedy and plague, so much so that whatever point he was trying to make had been lost in his complete pile of details

     As his speech went on the two ill-fitting robes had disappeared from the back of the hall right out the exit. The pair separating to go into each house until one found a can of gasoline and matches, and the other one a jar of honey.

 almost on cue the curtains began to rise and for the first time the sacrifices were not there. And with everyone's proclamation of surprise it was the first time that a voice besides the headmaster was heard in the hall. The only voices not being heard were the two ill fitting robes that were situated outside.

     The ill-fitting robes had come together, outside the main door of the building.

     One of the ill fitting robes asking,” Alexander were you able to find a jar of honey and rope.”

     “Yes, I was surprised though by how they hid the honey better than the matches and gasoline,” replied Alexander. “But Xander I am still unclear on the honey?”

     “I’ll explain later, I don’t have much confidence that the person on stand can extend the life of his dead speech much further.”

     With a nod both of them began the process of covering the back end of the church, towards the view of the audience in gasoline, and each of the exist beside the front. With Xander going of to the nearest wall, and using the honey as what Alexander thought of as a weird type of diy graffiti. Until Alexander saw the ants and understood how Xander was going to send his direct message.

     The pair then struck a match and hurled it at the trail of gasoline leading to the hall, instantly igniting the back and almost every exit on fire. Both Alexander and Xander began walking away towards the trail leading up into the surrounding mountain.

     It took a minute but one of the robes in the back of the hall noticed the flames, so a scream spurted out about the fire. And just as fast as the scream came, did everyone start running towards the fire exit. 

     Outside the building, everyone watched it burn as each plank, each nail became engulfed in red. But in the lit provided by the destruction of the most historic of all the buildings, morphing, wriggling masses of black were noticed on the wall of the nearby building. All the robes began to form around and then noticed that the masses looked like millions of ants, and that the masses of ants formed letters. With the letters having read, “The gods have come for a visit and we were very disappointed for you have taken our act of charity and twisted it into further acts of horror. If you do not believe us, if you continue sacrificing in thoughts that this message is fake, we will continue to burn the grounds upon which the innocent blood you spill rests.”

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Backyard Garden

Ryan Lumpkin

Professor Adler

Creative Writing 005

3 August 2022

Backyard Garden

     As I walk down the concrete sidewalk of my canyon, I pass by the oldest of my alma matters. This was the elementary school that housed all the embarrassing things I did before I knew anything. And with the school’s position at the exit of the only road out of my canyon, it made the school an inescapable reminder. But as I was passing by the fence of the school, I found myself at the perfect angle to look through the fence, look past the school building, and see the large garden positioned at the end of the school.

      I stood there for a moment to try to see how that garden was doing, and I found myself glad to find that it did not go to disrepair again. All the plants, the trees, grass, and even the bushes forming the short path into the wilderness were still green and had yet to rot away.

     The garden was always set to be the one relief in that school from all the structure I despised as a kid. The place that was away from everything that needed me to follow a rule.

     The path was always the thing I remembered the most of the place and it was due to how it was the barrier to what I thought was the wild. With the bushes that covered both sides of the path made any walkthrough an isolated one. Isolated from the school and from any rule that were put upon me.

     Past the path was the meadow were me, my brother, and our friends would go for unauthorized jaunts. The meadow was always quiet, and gave me the strange sense that I had been misplaced from my urban setting. Each time I would go would be a breaking of the rules, and would come with the freedom of not being restrained from exploring the forbidden.

     When I was done with this reminiscing, I continued on with my walk while my mind was still stuck on the path. How the crunch of each foot on the gravel road path drowned out all the outside sounds from the other students in the garden. The smell of the pollen during the springtime. But all my thoughts were on the prime of this garden. I started to remember when the approaching of nature became too much.

     The garden was an afterthought, an undisclosed patch of wilderness that was left for the wild to retake it. Which in my view, was the strangest deterioration of any place I ever saw? With every other place I ever saw go to ruin, it was always a slow death of less and less life being lost from the place. Less people would start going to a location, the colors of the paint of a building would start to lose their vibrancy, or a hole from an angry patron would be left unpatched. Tough every time I came back to the garden, I would see more and more life take over, as the plants started to grow out of control. Until the bushes fully grew over and enveloped the path.

     Once all that life had taken over it went from an afterthought to just another piece of the wilderness inaccessible to all the kids. The garden become lost, a relic that only lived through the unforgettable memories of childhood.

     Years past, and I never thought I would ever see that garden again. That would have been so if not for an unforeseen circumstance. Since part of the duties of being a boy scout was to help in other members efforts at improving the community. With the most unforeseen thing was that one of the members actually started a community project to restore the garden.

     Out of all the community projects the one on the school garden was the one I was most glad to be a part of. Since I felt pride even in being an extremely small part of the garden’s restoration. With each plant that was uprooted, bush trimmed, and new flower planted a part of my childhood was being restored.

     So, as I walked away from the school my mind always latched onto those memories of the garden. The memories of its past, growth, and the restoration that I never thought was possible. The garden always being a reminder of childhood and also how it cannot be taken away.