Hospice Face To Face Template: Fill & Download for Free

Creative writing is pretty much any non-academic writing. It’s poetry, prose, especially fiction. It doesn’t have to be “creative” in the sense that it’s something completely and totally new by today’s standards. It can be boring and still be creative writing, albeit not very good creative writing.That being said, creative writing is simple. Ask yourself a “what-if” question—for example, “What if an evil genius is dying, but is still determined to accomplish his evil plans even as he’s dying?” (I have a novel planned that I used that question for; you have my full permission to use it to plan your own novel/short story.)You then create people to fill in the roles that the “what-if” question creates. We need an evil genius, of course, and a not-so-evil genius who’s determined to stop him. The evil genius might need a doctor, or a hospice staff, or an evil henchman. Your hero needs backup. Throw in someone with a crazy name. Really get to know your characters—are they left- or right-handed? Favorite food? Favorite color? How do they react when someone does them wrong? Are they outgoing or shy? There’s print-out templates that help you get to know your characters better. Remember that your characters are real people, with likes and dislikes; not Sims that are pre-programmed to do your bidding.What happens when your characters are faced with your plot? How do they react? What struggles are there? How do they overcome—or do they? And this, my friend, is the basis of writing creatively.

I suspect “life imitates art” and if people are compelled by the paranormal as a template for their exploration of the subject, it’s possible they are prone to a morose outlook on life?Do people who have contemplated mortality and perhaps were surrounded by the themes of death (as opposed to shielded from the subject, such as a relative dying from a terminal illness, or witnessing people in hospice care hooked up to colostomy bags, or seeing dementia patients, etc.) then have a different outlook on mortality?I’m aware that I started to study EVP and similar research (though remained rather independent, I certainly saw no benefit from a social inclusion standpoint and have always been rather independent minded) though have also been inspired by writers like Edgar Alan Poe, and wrote short stories that explored the subject of the paranormal when in middle school. I also grew up at a time when movies like The Amityville Horror or Tales from the Crypt were still popular, and perhaps was also skeptical of general beliefs such as Santa, or other false constructs; so I needed something to latch onto that seemed cohesive in some way.Perhaps early emotional trauma can create a negative outlook (so perhaps emotional neglect or broken parental structure, as well as lack of security,) could make some seek comfort and a need for familiarity in the subject of an afterlife.One comparison is that throughout history, whenever people were faced with dismal prospects on mortality they would often explore the theme of death as a form of catharsis. The same way that certain upbringing can lead to hypernormalization of behaviors, so too do people peer into the abyss of emotions as a way to process it.

I did not “find” love simply because I was not looking for it. You can’t find something you are not looking for.No, I’d just come out of a relationship and wanted at least six months before I wanted to start looking. I was sure I’d have to look. Shit, that’s what every gay friend I’d known was in process of, that “looking” for the right one.Jim and I had participated in the Austin Capital City Men’s Chorus (CCMC), he for longer than I. I had joined because I felt I needed to be doing something I enjoyed and could pride myself on because, when you are dropped from a relationship, your self esteem takes a nose dive. I’d enjoyed singing, had led a choir back in the Southern Baptist church I had served in as Associate Pastor, and singing gave my heart wings. It wasn’t the only gay social function I participated in, but it was the one that really boosted my self confidence.So, not looking, but being an actual participant in life, I got to know another good singer. Didn’t know much about him, but we performed and led in the bass sectionals, and I enjoyed his presence. He was never one to hurt others and worked hard to build a good bass section by working together. He and I also served in leadership capacities with the CCMC and we both worked to make the organization viable and recognized in the men’s chorus community. One of the things we would often do was sing at memorial services for our members. The AIDS crisis was real and devastating to ourselves and a number of our members.Then, it happened. We had just performed another memorial service. The chorus lived up to its reputation of being out and supportive of our members and their families. It was coming up noon, and I, an insulin dependent diabetic, knew that time was growing short for me to grab some lunch or my blood sugar, along with my thought processing abilities, would begin to drop.Jim nonchalantly asked the group if anyone wanted to grab a bite for lunch. I sheepishly raised my hand and said I could certainly use a bite. I was the only one, as the other guys had to get back to work or had other commitments that afternoon.Our time at lunch was invigorating in that we spent time talking about what we did for work, where our lives had taken us, and I was intrigued by the self confidence this fantastic man across the table from me displayed.Here’s the thing that really surprised me. Jim was not someone who fit my gay partner template. Crap, I had for years developed this mental image of what my life mate should look like. He was going to be my age (35 at the time) or younger. He was going to have a baseball player’s physique, and he was going to be a trophy boyfriend. Yeah, I was old enough and thought I deserved such a looker. Jim was none of that, except for having been a diver, ice skater, and avid gardener for years. He’d play some tennis when he could get to the courts. He was also 28 years my senior. “Damnit, Scott, this is not what you were looking for. Shit, the man will probably not want to even give a blow job if he doesn’t fall asleep 15 minutes in the sack.”Well, it turned out way different than I thought. First of all, Jim had traveled the world. He’d had lovers in his past who were still his friends. He had an intellect that was sharp and always open to new ideas. He was tech savvy, wasn’t afraid of computers, and could cook like a five star chef.Well, our lunch progressed from talking about our own lives to a great drive around the Austin loop 360 in his immaculately clean T-top Nissan Pulsar. Beautiful scenery, gorgeous sun, clouds, and the rising of the moon, indicating dusk was quickly on its way. He invited me to his place for a cocktail (damn, what a sophisticate) and he has always claimed that he did so with no ulterior motive. He also, a few years later, warned other friends to be careful who the invite over for a drink. They might never leave.Once at his house, I noticed that he was an organizer, that he planned his meals in advance, that his car was kept in a garage, that he had an office with a desktop computer, and that his expertise in gardening was partially due to his training in botany. I’d given that major some serious consideration myself. We traded stories over drinks, and I grew passionately in awe of this man. I kept looking at my watch, not for the time, but for the date. I was just 2 days past my deadline I’d set for myself on the “start looking” calendar. Except Jim was not on my “looking” agenda. Well, I decided that my peculiarities in men’s physical attributes were being pushed aside by a desire to spend more time with this man. I made the first move and asked him if he would make out with me, hoping that his rejection would be face saving. He wasn’t the first man I’d come on to after my break up, but he was the first I had a real desire to share a life with. Wasn’t sure my ego would take the rejection, but I was going to try to achieve something with someone who I’d fallen for. If you don’t ask, you won’t know the answer.Jim told me he’d been thinking the same thing for the last thirty minutes and thought I’d never get around to asking him. We made out on the couch for twenty minutes and I was finding the individual I’d thought wouldn’t know french kissing from peach licking, showed me my place. Yeah, inexperienced was the term for me. I’d only been involved with three other men sexually, and none of those knew anything about what it meant to take an active part in making their partner feel needed and important in the sexual act. My kissing became more passionate with Jim on this first adventure. I wanted him to know that I was enjoying his attention and he had all of mine. He taught me some technique that improved my skill and I proved my skill by surgically massaging his tonsils with my tongue. I was enjoying the same attention to my tonsils. Who knew we both still had them, even after the proscribed attention.Jim was the one to ask me if I’d like to spend the night together with him. Oh, that answer came to me easily. Of course. He and I spent the next 24 plus years together. And we found life to be more than what goes on when enjoying sex, but remembered that sex was an important aspect of our total selves.As we came to the point in our relationship where marriage had become legally possible in Louisiana for gay couples, Jim and I wed with a small group of friends in attendance at our Bed and Breakfast, in August 2015. By February 2018, Jim had begun struggling with a heart valve that had determined to make his life difficult. By March of the year, we were in Houston seeking help from a cardiovascular surgeon to make a replacement of that valve.And, in doing so, I added another layer of admiration for this man. You see, the last name of the surgeon was one that was familiar to Jim. Come to discover, Jim had known the surgeon’s father when the father and Jim had both worked at Hermann Memorial during the Second World War. His surgeon had been born while Jim was working there and Jim remembered seeing the baby, now his surgeon, and congratulating his father. Damn, what a life my husband had lived.The surgery, although successful, was an immense strain on my husband’s now 87 year old frame. After rehab and other measures to try and help him work through this event, my husband, the love of my life, died in June 2018.Is it possible for gay men to find love? Only when you quite looking for it! Then “it” happens and you are head over heels, or, as Jim and many of his cohorts would say, heels over tits, in love. I can say, without so much as a concern for propriety, that we did love each other. The hardest thing I ever felt I had to do was show enough love and compassion for Jim to to let him know that I didn’t want him to die, but that I would find a way to honor his life if he felt it better to give up struggling to live life in a meaningful manner.I received a call that morning from his hospice care nurse. I felt my heart sink when I was told that Jim had died. Do I want him back? Only if he could live comfortably with me at his side. Can that occur? No, it cannot. Did we have love? You better damn well fucking believe it.