Hemingway Reviews: Two Hearted IPA
The fish on the label looked like one I once tried to catch on the Two-Hearted River. I never caught it. I wrote about not catching it. They gave me a Pulitzer for that. Now it’s on a can. Fitting.
Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
The fish on the label looked like one I once tried to catch on the Two-Hearted River. I never caught it. I wrote about not catching it. They gave me a Pulitzer for that. Now it’s on a can. Fitting.
“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.
Without a motive to endeavor, be it profit, glory, or other recognition, society will stagnate. Then collapse.
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.
The White House says the purpose of the parade isn’t just to celebrate Flag Day and Trump’s birthday but also to celebrate the 250th anniversary of the U.S. Army, which falls on the same day.
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?
In a world where convenience and comfort are often just a tap away, it’s easy to forget the unimaginable hardships that shaped the lives of our ancestors. They lived through times when sacrifice wasn’t optional—it was expected.
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!!!!”
I am in the lobby of my hotel, waking up. The coffee is lukewarm. The breakfast is freezer burnt. And the overhead music playing is “Highway to Hell.” You can’t get away from canned music. It’s everywhere.
Liberals are getting more unhinged as time progresses. Now they can’t allow America to commemorate the founding of our Army.
On May 3, 2025, Sovereignty, a 3-year-old colt, surged past the odds-on favorite, Journalism, to claim the Run for the Roses by 1 1/2 lengths at Churchill Downs. For Trump supporters, this wasn’t just a horse race—it was a providential sign.
If you’ve studied history or lived it, you should be able to add the last name and put context into these lines:
“From my cold dead hands….” Heston
“Et tu Brute.” William
Trump securing southern border includes authorizing the military to take control of public land along the border. “The complexity of the current situation requires that our military take a more direct role in securing our southern border than in the recent past.”
Daddy used his belt buckle to pop open his Coke. He used his teeth to tear open the peanuts. Then he carefully dumped the nuts into the mouth of the bottle. He handed the bottle to me. “Here,” he said. “This is something my daddy used to do. Try it.”
I receive a lot of remarks in the form of emails, private messages, obscene hand gestures, etc. There’s no way I could answer all comments individually. So occasionally, I compile commonly asked questions and answer them in this column.
Dear God,
It’s me again. Actually, I don’t know what you want me to call you. For all I know, you might prefer to be called something Hebrew, Latin, or maybe you don’t want to be called anything at all.