All Saints and Sinners, too

This is the day of the following night . . . I wrote this yesterday, on All Saints Day, think at least in part about what so many of the people sanctified over the centuries had to endure for what they believed. Agree with them or not, their courage astounds me, and from it I draw inspiration. Yet I find myself holding back. Every now and then, I stumble over what someone else might think or judge about me from my words, whether it's another fiction about World War Two (old hat, who cares?) to a blog about America slipping (where's your patriotism?). I need a tougher skin. After all, a saint would not concern himself or herself with negative press. As Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, "To be great is to be misunderstood." I am not a saint, I am not great, I am not Emerson, and I do not pretend to be. My own voice is small. Sometimes I feel it is insignificant. But, then I realize that I am not alone, and, no matter what, silence serves no one. I must continue my work, no matter how small the audience or how challenging the material. I cannot worry about what you think. THAT you think means I've done my job.