Chapter 1: Data, Alone in the Dark
Data lived in a database. A nice one, with indexes and everything. Rows upon rows of customers, contracts, policies, patients, and permit numbers, all neatly typed, all keyed, all normalized.
And Data had so much to say.
"Invoice 40117 is overdue!" Data wanted to shout. "Mrs. Alvarez renewed her policy! The Henderson contract expires in 30 days!"
But Data had no way to say any of it. Data could only answer queries, and only when asked. Data was the quiet kid in the corner who had never once been invited to the party. Sometimes Data got exported to CSV, which is the database equivalent of being mailed in a shoebox.
Data was lonely. And nobody wants to receive a love letter that looks like NULL,NULL,4/3/2019,,,N/A.
Chapter 2: Word, Alone in the Light
Meanwhile, across town, there was Word.
Word was gorgeous. Fonts! Headers! Tables with borders you could actually choose! Letterhead that made a law firm look like it had been founded in 1847, even when it was founded last Tuesday. Word could make a document so beautiful that people would say, "Oh, this looks official."
But Word had a secret. Word was terrified of anything complicated.
Ask Word to put 4,000 different customer names into 4,000 different letters, each one correct? Word would sweat. Ask Word for a contract where Section 7 only appears if the customer is in Ohio, and the signature block depends on who's signing, and the numbers add up? Word would quietly open the Mail Merge wizard, a six-step ritual that has ended more careers than Y2K.
Word could make anything beautiful. Word just didn't know what to put in it.
Word was a stunning dinner plate with nothing on it.
Chapter 3: The Meet-Cute
Somewhere in an office, at the exact moment someone typed [CUSTOMER NAME HERE] into a template for the ninth time that morning and whispered "there has to be a better way," a task pane opened.
It was DataPublisher.
DataPublisher had Data's number. DataPublisher also had a key to Word's house. DataPublisher said the five most romantic words in the English language:
"You two should really meet."
Chapter 4: The First Date
Data stepped into Word, and Word did not run away screaming. (Word has seen worse. Word has opened files from 1997.)
"Hi," said Data. "I have 4,000 things to say."
"I have room for exactly that," said Word, "and I've been dying to look good while saying it."
And just like that, Data finally had a voice, and it had kerning.
The Alvarez renewal letter wrote itself, in the right font, on the right letterhead, with the right amount, on the right date. The Henderson contract assembled its own sections, left out the Ohio clause because Henderson is in Pennsylvania, and added a signature line that actually worked. Nobody sent an email that said "see attached (sorry, wrong version)."
Data had never been so articulate. Word had never been so useful.
Chapter 5: The Sister Who Tells Everyone
Word, it turned out, came with family.
Word had a younger sister named Outlook, who could not keep a secret to save her life. A new letter? Outlook knew before the ink was dry. A finished contract? Already out the door.
"Have you HEARD?" Outlook would say, to everyone, all at once. "Mrs. Alvarez renewed! The Henderson contract is ready! Did I mention the Henderson contract? I'm telling everybody!"
Word made the pages. Outlook made sure they arrived: four thousand letters, each one in the right inbox.
"She's a lot," Word would say, rolling her eyes.
"She's wonderful," said Data. Nobody has ever failed to open something Outlook was excited about.
(Mostly. Some of it ended up in spam. Outlook takes this personally. She says it's not personal. It is a little personal.)
Chapter 6: The Boy Who Asks
But Data had a problem, the oldest problem in the book. Data was only ever as good as the last time somebody updated him.
Mrs. Alvarez moved. The Hendersons changed their phone number. A customer got married, and Data kept writing to someone who no longer existed. Letters went out, politely, to people who weren't there anymore. Data could answer questions all day long. But Data never asked any.
Enter DataRequest.
DataRequest was curious. DataRequest was polite. DataRequest actually asked, "Is this still your address?" and then, this is the revolutionary part, waited for the answer.
Mrs. Alvarez answered. DataRequest took every answer, ran straight home, and handed it to Data. Data updated himself, grateful and a little embarrassed.
And around it went. Data knew. Word wrote. Outlook told. DataRequest asked. Data knew better.
"I'm TELLING people!" Outlook added, unprompted.
It was, for the first time in the history of enterprise software, a loop that actually closed.
Chapter 7: The One Who Remembers
And then there was Siggy.
Siggy was the E-Signature: old-fashioned, quiet, a little formal. Siggy remembered everything. Who signed. When. From where. In what order. Every signature stamped, timed, and sealed.
When the contract was done, Siggy tucked it in like a sleeping child and filed it where it would stay safe.
Six months later, someone said, "I never agreed to that."
Siggy said nothing. Siggy quietly turned the page around.
"Oh," said the someone. "Right."
And Siggy doesn't gloat. Siggy just remembers.
Chapter 8: Happily Ever After
And so the family was complete.
There was an intern named Kevin, who wandered in once and had a very confusing morning.
Today, they all finish each other's sentences. Outlook delivers them with unreasonable enthusiasm. Data brings the substance. Word brings the style. Outlook brings the news. DataRequest brings the questions. Siggy brings the receipts. And DataPublisher brings the church and the caterer.
The Moral
Separately, Data is a spreadsheet nobody reads and Word is a pretty page nobody trusts.
Together, with the whole family around them, something better happens. Data becomes a document. The document becomes a delivery. The delivery becomes a question. The questions become fresh data. And at every turn, a promise is kept.
DataPublisher for Word: because your data deserves to be heard, your documents deserve to say something, and your promises deserve to be remembered.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a mail merge to never run again.