Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
Sean Dietrich 
The 18-year-old girl was in the hospital room. Her bed sat amidst a forest of hissing machines and blinking lights. The young preacher knew he’d found the right room. He straightened his tie. This was the hardest part of his job.
The 14-year-old boy cried as he knelt beside his bedside, clasping his hands together. He sobbed, imploring the heavens for a miracle.
Hey, Daddy. Just checking in. How’s the customer service up in Heaven? I heard they have a great buffet. The cruise director happens to be an old friend.
Tomatoes are my favorite “non-vegetable” vegetable. I was recently informed by a smart person that tomatoes are—technically—a “fruit” because they are the ripened “ovary” of a flowering plant. But that’s just weird.
The electricity went out. I don’t know why it happened. It wasn’t storming. The weather was nice. All I know is I was watching TV when the lamps suddenly flickered and died. And that was that.
I got into an argument at the supermarket. This is how volatile our world is right now. It was in the checkout line. My opponent was not only clueless, but pigheaded, refusing all logic. The fact that my opponent is only 9 is no excuse.
Sean receives lots of reader commentary. Often he responds to them in his uniquely pithy, yet humorous way.
Simply close your eyes and think of your favorite thing in the whole world besides queso dip. Okay. Got it? Now you’re going to have to open your eyes again because these paragraphs aren’t going to read themselves.
The Dothan Opera House is an old building, constructed during World War I. Everyone has performed here. Willie Nelson, the Statler Brothers, Conway Twitty, Bob Dylan.
I come from a long line of porch sitters. This is why I am always on my porch. In my neighborhood, I am affectionately known as “that weirdo freak who’s always on his porch.” This is usually said in a positive way.
“Dear Sean,” the email began. “I teach vacation Bible school… Last year we had three Latino children whose parents are undocumented immigrants… “Church leadership felt it best not to allow these children to attend VBS this year. It broke my heart, the kids don’t understand, I’m really struggling with this decision. What should I do?” …
Whenever I am feeling sad and blue, I visit my living room coffee table. There, I consult a book that sits on my coffee table. I open this book and almost always feel better.
Waffle House. My waitress has a bunch of tattoos. The women customers in the booth behind mine are talking about it in voices loud enough to alter the migratory patterns of waterfowl.
Frankly I don’t know anything about the business of writing. And I’ll let you in on a secret, neither do the publishers, editors, marketing teams, or prof reeders. This is why the publishing industry has perhaps the highest turnover rate among employees except for, perhaps, the mafia.
Everything really is bigger in Texas. The sky. The hamburgers. And of course, the oversized tourist cowboy hats found in gas stations.
It was raining when we saw the big cross. In the distance. We’d been told about the cross. We knew it was near. Everyone on the trail had been talking about it.
I’ve been writing professionally for upwards of a decade. And suddenly, I don’t know why I’m doing it. What’s wrong with me?
If you have a chance today, pray for this magnificent young woman, Morgan. If you don’t believe in prayer, it’s okay. Pray anyway.
The voice is telling you to spend more time playing; less time working. More time praying, less time worrying. More time being silly; less time being a grown-up. “Have fun with your life,” the voice keeps saying, “while you still can.”
The first big difference I noticed in America was that we move very fast. Everything we do is fast. We want our food fast. We want our news fast. We drive fast. We pump gas fast. We stand before a microwave and shout, “HURRY UP!!!!”