Dear Editor, 

Hi. It’s me, Greta. You might not remember me, because I was executive editor of The Record back before you were even born (fall of 2021). But I am writing this letter because I need to clear my name. 

You see, during my first year of college, I wrote an article that is incongruent with who I am. It’s time to change the public narrative. And to any young writers out there: remember that articles for The Record are FOREVER. If you aren’t careful, you might accidentally end up endorsing a certain food that you actually hate. Write without caution and you might be haunted by the ghost of a donut for as long as you live. Please, behold my tragic tale.

I took a class my second semester of college called “Reporting for the Public Good.” One of our assignments was to write a feature article. My professor, Marshall King, had mentioned off-hand that the popular cinnamon caramel donut from Rise’n Roll bakery, often referred to as “Amish Crack,” had actually stolen the nickname from another Amish-adjacent snack. I’ve never liked those donuts, but I was desperate for an article idea, so I decided to follow his lead and see where it went. 

“I’ll write about Amish Crack donuts,” I said to myself, “it should at least be kind of interesting!” 

Writing the article was fine. I pretended to like the donuts, just to put myself in the right headspace. I went to the flagship Rise’n Roll in Middlebury, talked to the owner and a few customers, took a picture of a box of donuts, and went on my merry way. The article was published, and I forgot all about it. 

Little did I know, my article would soon become the top Google result for “Amish Crack.” Don’t believe me? Go and see for yourself! Anyone interested in these donuts OR the Amish and their relationship with a certain illicit substance will have my article shoved down their throats. 

I’ve gotten messages from random people on Facebook who have STALKED ME online after reading this article. The Record is an award-winning newspaper putting out lots of amazing content, and STILL this article is one of the most visited on The Record website. And it is ruining my life. 

So, let the record (and The Record) state that I, Greta Lapp Klassen, DO NOT LIKE Amish Crack donuts. 

I think they are overwhelmingly sweet and I don’t like the sensation of powder covering my face. 

I have come to terms with my article being perhaps the most important thing I will ever write, but I can no longer act like I support these donuts. I do not like them. I apologize for any harm or confusion I may have caused. I promise to be more judicious the next time I write about the history of a food nickname, and I hope my story can serve as a cautionary tale for other aspiring writers.


The (former) Editor 

Greta doesn’t go to Goshen College anymore, so it is unclear why she is still trying to write for The Record. She is a member of the class of 2023 and is currently living in Washington, D.C. working at Sojourners Magazine as an editorial assistant. 

The Amish Crack article is officially the most-visited article on The Record’s website by over 1,000 views.

Dear Editor,

Hello. You probably don’t recognize my name — that’s totally fine. I am actually completely Washed Up™ at this point, having graduated almost an entire YEAR ago. I’m also positively ancient (23), have sold my soul to capitalism (work a 9-5), and derive pleasure from only the basest of human activities (The New York Times crossword, Wordle and Connections).

Which brings me to my main concern and the subject of this letter — the Connections.

I am an avid Connection-er, which is kind of like being a Directioner, but with less fanfiction and more screaming. Every morning, I sit down at my desk with a mug of tea, my trusty phone and the knowledge that I am about to absolutely demolish the Connections of the day.

But lately, I’ve been suffering from a terrible affliction of the mind — a lack of creativity, a dearth of wisdom. I haven’t been able to perform at my highest Connections level, and I consistently struggle to complete them in a timely manner. 

I have nightmares about it; categories like “Types of Creatures that Only Live in the Mariana Trench” and “Words that Start with the Same Letter as the Brand of Marinara Sauce that Can Only Be Found in the South of Italy” haunt my dreams. 

A few nights ago, I woke up to discover that, in my sleep, I had organized the contents of my closet into four categories: pants, dresses, shirts with photos of Zendaya on them and tank tops.

Now, I don’t read The Record every week, because that feels clingy. Why should I? I don’t go to Goshen anymore, much less fulfill the executive editor duty of staying up until 1 a.m. on a Wednesday night to piece together articles, photos and headlines into a cohesive whole and pray that I haven’t missed any shocking typos that will turn the student body against me.

But, recently, in order to combat my Connections stress, I have turned to new sources of entertainment to keep me occupied. Last week, I decided to check in on The Record — just to see how things are going in my absence.

Not even four categories of words could describe my shock when I opened a copy of The Record to the Funnies section, hoping that it would warm my frozen Connectioner heart, and saw my arch-nemesis splashed across the page.

I felt like I’d been stabbed in the chest. Et tu, Record? This newspaper, which for so long had felt like a safe haven for me — so far from the worries of post-grad life and paying rent and the Connections — suddenly became rife with danger. I felt as though the Connections had officially seeped into every part of my life — even my collegiate past.

I write to you now to implore you to see reason, preserve my sanity and remove this cruel creation from the hallowed pages of this paper.

Thank you for your time; I’m sure you’re already scrambling to make this necessary change.

Best wishes,

A Half-Crazed Connection-er

Gussie lives in Chicago and works as a writer and marketing assistant for a fancy law agency, but she’s planning to go to grad school for music performance next year. Gussie hates whipped cream, loves reading, and both loves and hates The New York Times Connections.