Sample Journal Entries - Ethan Wescott
Ryan Gosling PB

Dad is leaving town again. He's been fighting with the deacons at St. Paul's, and put in his resignation last week. I wouldn't say that, I mean, it's not a nice thing to say, but I'm sure everybody in the congregation already knows what's going on. (What are the odds of most of them reading this, I wonder?) It's just sad, the way he always does this. I have no idea how he held up his post in Annapolis for as long as he did. He's a dying breed, my dad: one of those old fire-and-brimstone priests that everyone is too liberal for, anymore. I guess he's a good guy, but he's pretty stuck in his ways. Maybe he wouldn't have this problem, if he could listen to what everyone else has to say, once in awhile.

There's already some other job lined up for him, out in New Mexico. He told me he's been thinking about leaving for a long time, he just never did, because he thought he could "do some good" here. As much as I hate to see him and mom go...I know it's a good thing. In this new church, he won't be a priest, he'll be their co-ordinator for adult education. They know what his views are, so they won't be surprised by him. And I think it's something he can throw himself into, maybe get him off my back, if he has other people to "teach."

I love my dad, but he makes me crazy. I mean, he's a great dad. He always took care of our family, tried his best to make sure I didn't come out screwed up, involved himself, when I was a kid. But now that I'm older, now that I'm doing my own thing, he criticizes every waking moment of my life. I need to get a room mate, to help pay the bills. I need to stop writing poetry, because it doesn't sell. I need to stop writing horror, because it puts me in a "bad place." I need to put my education to use, stop being so "creative," start a family. His aspirations are entirely different from mine. As a kid, I never noticed how different we were. I thought, "Oh, that's my dad, he's awesome. I'll be like him when I grow up." I didn't know what he was like, though. I only saw the tough provider, the guy with the big belly laugh. The worst part of it is, it's kind of disappointing to know I never will be that guy I wanted to be, when I was a kid.

I'm my own hero, now. I just want to be me. As cliche, or boring, or penniless, or stupid as that is, that's all I want. It's harder than it sounds. Yesterday, I went out and bought the 2006 Writer's Market. There are a couple of magazines that are looking really good for submitting my stories to. I don't understand magazines that charge submission fees. My stuff isn't that bad. (And if it was, hey, there's a free laugh for the submission readers!) Postage being what it is, sending a bunch of pages and cover letters is expensive enough. You have to buy those thick envelopes for them. I bought a box of twenty, and I'm sitting here, with all these envelopes on my desk, thinking, "I am never gonna get anything published."

But there are always other boxes of envelopes. There's always going to be more stuff to send out. Believe me, if there's one thing I'm rich in, it's crappy writing no one's read yet.

I'm starting to get back into acting, too. When I was at college, I went way, way out of my way to be in everything the school produced, even if all I got was a background role. Then I came back here, and the world of selling-TVs-on-commission engulfed me. That commission check is a fat piece of bait, if I ever saw one. But I realized, and this has to have only been a couple weeks ago, that in a town where we have plenty of dinner theatres, and a nice theatre or two, I could easily do what I did in college. I have two steady jobs, but if it's something I love, I can always find time. I'm thinking of joining a couple of workshops, to brush up my skills. It's been awhile since I had a bigger audience than the mirror in my bathroom.