The Suit rolls his shoulders and gathers his thought. It's time for him to bless the meeting with his opinion.
His hand hovers above the first pile. "This idea is pretty much what the client is expecting, I think. I certainly wouldn't be uncomfortable taking it into the meeting.
"This route" - addressing the middle pile now - "is really interesting. I like the direction you've pushed it in and I'm sure there's something in it we can talk about, don't you?" DYE nods brightly in agreement.
Turning to the third and final stack of ideas: "This one might be just a little too left field. I think it's really clever, but I'm wondering if it's more of a revolution then the evolution we're looking for right now. I'd say it was probably something we'd look at running in Year Two..."
And that's it. It's dead.
Like tomorrow, Year Two never comes. It lies there, just beyond the horizon, a tantalising Shangri La of boundless TV budgets, brave clients and expansive outdoor campaigns that recedes with every step you take towards it.
It's is the worse kind of creative kiss off because it leaves you with a lingering promise of 'giving it another go', like an ex-lover whose memory you can't shake. But it's an empty promise, devoid of hope and tinged with bitterness.
Some creatives claimed to have seen Year Two. Some to have walked its gilded streets. In almost every case, however, it's a delusion forged in a mind fevered by the sixth rewrite of a brochure for a client offering bespoke back office support software for the financial sector.
If you suffer death by Year Two, put it behind you with all the dignity you can muster. Accept it, move on. And remember, there's always next year.
