The Birds from IPSA

When it comes to inspiration, sometimes you just have to close those eyes, blank out any thoughts, and let whatever wants to wander through happen.

So... I did.

And what happened to wander through was a long, long ago writing I did for a class in college. It was one of several projects (brilliant projects, I might add) that were part of my Writing for Broadcast course.

The Birds from IPSA.

The International Penguin Spy Association.

Run by Ben and Gwen, two emperor penguins. Their nemesis? A walrus with a broken tusk named... wait for it... The Vicar.

Seriously. This was my project.

The class was tasked with writing a half hour television show. Script, direction, sets, costuming, props, cues, the works. Any subject. Any form. I suppose if I had wanted to write about penguins I could have scripted a documentary, but where is the fun in that. Nope, I wanted to do more of a throwback to the shows of my childhood. Think Man from UNCLE (see what I did there?!)... Wild Wild West... Lancelot Link...

Yep... What's the path my brain went down. A weird, twisty path of penguins in fedoras and trenchcoats; a broken toothed walrus with an ascot; a dingy upstairs office with a door with a dirty window with the cover name of the agency (somehow, that tidbit escapes me at the moment) and worn plank wood floors.

I also can't quite remember the plot of my pilot show. I suppose I could rummage around in the Memory Box that has been packed and repacked and moved at least three times for the original transcript. But the plot is not really the point here. (This is assuming I had a point when I started, or even need to have one.)

The best part of the whole thing was that Professor Grow not only let me create my strange little show (yes, with a raised eyebrow, but he did), but he graded it based on the required criteria. And gave me an A. Sound writing, proper plot development, accurate layout, stayed in time frame, etc. I did get chastised for the use of The Vicar, seeing as how the church in England may not have taken kindly to his character. I suppose those were more politically correct times. Professor Grow always graded blind, with our names on the back of the final page, but I'm pretty sure he knew this one was mine. This may or may not have had anything to do with the paper I had written as Opus, the penguin from Bloom County. (I had a thing for penguins in college. Don't ask.)

Inspiration and creativity should never be "graded" on the subject matter or who the artist happens to be. The final project should be seen for what it is. It is personal, and sometimes singular, and sometimes entirely unnoticed and unappreciated by the world around it. The beauty in the creation belongs to the creator. The world may see it, or not; judge it, or not; grade it, or not; chose to appreciate it, or not. And that part doesn't matter.