New Letters accepted one of my essays. So today, while I'm giving thanks for turkey and pie, I'll add an appreciation of all the people, from editors to interns, who create literary journals. In a small town in Florida, in an old wood house shaded by live oaks, I prop up on my writing bed and work on a piece until I think it might be ready. (I'm often wrong.) And then I launch it out into the world. Thanks to journals like New Letters, it sometimes doesn't sink.