Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
Sean Dietrich 
It is the Gatlin Brothers 70th anniversary concert, and every Nashville A-list celebrity you can think of is here. I am supposed to do a song with everyone at the end. Larry Gatlin told me to bring my banjo. But I’m experiencing a bad case of “tiny banjo syndrome” right now. I don’t belong here. I don’t know how to act around famous people.
I receive a lot of mail in the form of emails, letters, private messages, texts, Morse code, etc. It is impossible to answer all these messages, so I compiled some commonly asked questions
Years ago, I was sitting with my Methodist mother-in-law in the living room. We were replaying old memories like worn out records only weeks before she would pass. Hospice was already in the house.
There I am, watching him. He sits on the steps of the Shell Station. A backpack beside him. His skin is rawhide. His beard is white.
I’d say the biggest problem facing this country is typos. Typos are cropping up everywhere. In advertisements, in emails, and even within the very words your reading now. The main reason for this is your phone, which thinks it’s smarter than you.
Approximately 5,000 US movie theaters have closed in the last five years. Which is about 1,000 theater closures per year. More theaters are predicted to close. People just aren’t going to the movies anymore.
Currently, polar bears are fatter than they have been in the last 30 years. In a recent study, 770 polar bears were in better condition and had higher fat reserves than in the 1990s. In other good news, I also have higher fat reserves than I did in the ‘90s.
JOHN—My angel story takes place when my wife was dying, and I watched everything go downhill in a matter of months. And every night, I would hear a voice tell me “You can get through this, John.”
Yeah, I believe in angels. I haven’t always. And sometimes I wish I didn’t believe. It would be easier not to.
The old man showed up to visit his granddaughter in the pediatric oncology wing of the hospital. He walked into his granddaughter’s hospital room. The little girl’s face turned 101 shades of thrilled.
I’ll call her Julie. Julie parked the car in the prison-visitor parking lot. Her hands were shaking, but not from nerves. More from excitement.
I used to volunteer at an animal shelter. I loved it. My favorite place in the shelter was called the “Introduction Room.” This was the room where people went to meet the dogs that were up for adoption.
When I was a kid, church ladies ran the whole world. Elderly women were always telling me what to do, randomly appearing from the shadows and trying to feed me.
Dear Texas, I am driving through your state today, and I just wanted to say that I am a big fan. I’ve always loved your heart. Your mind. Your hands. And above all, your Willie.
Canned music. It’s everywhere. You cannot get away from it. It is always playing in public spaces. Grocery stores, hotel lobbies, airplanes, colonoscopy exam rooms.
Sometimes you meet people. People you feel like you’ve met before. Strangers whom you’ve mysteriously known all your life.
Somehow
She was walking her hound. It was a young beagle. Loose skin. Smooshy face. Uncoordinated feet the size of Lodge skillets. I was in Forsyth Park, in the heart of Savannah. It was overcast and gray. There were various soccer teams on the field, doing drills. And I was mesmerized by the animal.
I don’t know her name. I don’t know anything about her. She is a sign language interpreter. That’s all I know. She sits onstage during tonight’s keynote address for the Savannah Book Festival. She is translating speech into ASL. She interprets for upwards of an hour.
Her name is Joeann. She works at the Hampton Inn in Jackson. She tends the dining room, making the breakfasts, and cleaning off tables. She is easy to talk to.
Savannah. The sun is not up. The city is dark and foggy. I am the first one awake in my hotel. I am always the first one awake. I don’t know why. As a kid, I could sleep until Carson came on. Now I get up before the rooster clears his throat.