A PROCESS OF SORTS
Creative Briefs.
They say Creative at the top,
but soon turn into gargled water.
Regurgitated insights.
Recycled propositions.
We used to work on those at large agencies.
Not any more.
Now, we work at a start up.
It’s actually a decade old,
but has the mental make up of a start up.
We think like entrepreneurs.
Who think like starving artists.
Our last brief could well be the last brief that comes through the doors.
So we throw everything at it.
Including the interns.
The weakest ideas die first.
The ones born of groupthink go next.
The good ones are slaughtered soon after.
And we’re back to
Square One.
More rounds of self-inflicted torture
lead to existential crisis.
What are we really doing?
Why?
We’re a smallish agency.
Mouths need to be fed.
Just as we’re about to let one slide,
someone develops a conscience.
And mentions the name that hangs on the
shingle outside —
Almost Impossible.
Bastard.
Now we have to come up with an impossible idea.
In lesser time than before.
Off we go again.
Sharpened pencils in hand to stab the bastard.
We regroup a minute before the deadline.
The impending loss of face usually does wonders.
We now have ideas in the vicinity of
F**k Yeah.
We package them and get ready to share.
Irrespective of the outcome.
Because we know.
If we can come up with one great idea,
we can come up with more.
It’s just a question of being unhinged enough
to keep pushing ourselves.
Beyond the boundaries of Acceptable.
Call us suckers for punishment.
Or pain aficionados.