Friends, administrative coordinators, benefits-eligible staff: lend me your ears.

There comes a time in every hero’s journey when they must face their worst fear. I sought an office job, and the gods granted my wish. But this wish came with a cursed stipulation. My new employer cannot see how they have crushed my dreams of glory. Still, I must soldier on; I cannot keep myself alive whilst maintaining my dignity, and I cannot resist the call. If I want to keep this perfectly fine, well-paying job in administration, I must confront my worst enemy, my prophesized foe—the greatest of all evils.

I must write the department newsletter.

When I graduated, I swore to myself upon the grave of my degree that I would never fall into the clutches of marketing or editing. My peers each donated their youth to the beast, as they found work only in social media management and copywriting. Somehow, though, I evaded it. I had worked in libraries for years, narrowly avoiding the fate my peers undertook—by scanning returned books and answering reference questions.

Eventually, however, I hit the ceiling and decided to pivot to an office job. Foolish, I was! One may assume that because my transition was into a higher-level position, I might be saved the embarrassment. I dream of being so lucky.

Naïvety has buoyed me throughout my journey—I believed that by avoiding the curse, I could preserve my creativity. Part of me knows that no Great Writer writes in only one medium. But I was told, while I went to college, that my degree would never lead to Greatness. That glory was reserved for scientists and entrepreneurs. And I sought to break the mold—to pursue Greatness with my Humanities degree. O! How far I have come without ever being asked to accomplish this dreaded task.

I had no choice. I envisioned myself as a hero, but like others who have been thrust into Greatness, humility is now my charge. I must type up a weekly newsletter and send it to a mailing list. The humiliation is nearly unbearable.

As I take on this terrible responsibility, I hope it goes unnoticed. O! Do not write down how I emerged from the trenches once my stories scatter across the stars. There is no glory in writing the department newsletter. It is the task of the lowest order, relatively speaking. I have worked in public service—I need not learn this lesson in humility a second time. But the pennies this task offers will feed my belly and shelter me from the bitter winters.

Do not cry for me. As I melee with MailChimp, I shall stay optimistic. Perhaps, despite having to write this newsletter, I may keep my creative chastity—my sun-kissed comedic wit, my sharp-tipped brilliance—and my reputation will not include this horrible errand once my exploits pass from lip to ear.

I must face this challenge with honor and a pure heart. I cannot wonder whether it will offer me wisdom to write the department newsletter. Instead, I must study MailChimp HTML so that my daughters can study Celoxis, and their daughters can finally study Adobe Suite.

I welcome my new quest. I cannot dodge Writing a Newsletter all my life. With great living wage comes great boring chore. Please think of me with admiration the next time you check your spam folder.