Next time you're in the mood for a drinking game, see how many writers you can find who pine for the days of carefree youth, when the world seemed infinite and life's possibilities limitless. As children, we are ostensibly encouraged to be creative; much praise is heaped upon he or she who demonstrates ingenuity at an early age, be it in work or play. Ironically, as we grow older the same individualistic impulses so conductive to creativity are routinely suppressed: grade schools have a curriculum to instill, and anyone deviating from the standard pattern is an obstacle. At the same time employees scour résumés for applicants who can distinguish themselves from the pack, they must ensure these same personal qualities synergize with the broader corporate strategy. The Japanese have a proverb that encapsulates this desire for social conformity: "If a nail sticks out, hammer it down." New thinking is all well and good, but do it on your own time.

The 19th Century English philosopher John Stuart Mill advocated for greater appreciation of eccentricity in society; no surprise, considering he was fairly eccentric himself. Individuality lay at the core of his notion of Utilitarianism: that everyone is made unique, and only by fully realizing one's particular potential can one flourish in body and mind. To this end, Mill believed that personal liberty should remain unrestricted insofar as it did not infringe upon the liberty of a fellow individual. To Mill, the greatest enemy of society was its stigmas, those vanguards of conformity that he famously dubbed the "tyranny of the majority". He did not object to common sense; rather, he stressed that the only way to develop valid social norms was through the free and equal exchange of ideas, whereby discussion and debate would debunk those that were harmful, and affirm and promote those that were good. To follow tradition without question was to perpetuate mediocrity, which in large enough doses would lead to cultural stagnation.

Discussing the merits of Mill's Utilitarianism and his full argument regarding freedom of speech is a conversation for another day. Suffice to say, Mill believed that creativity uncultivated would wither; perhaps not irrecoverably so, but a tragedy regardless, not only to the individual, but also to the community at large that would never benefit from the potential. The lesson to take away from all this is that we shouldn't be afraid to take risks with the creative process—excepting those that would recklessly jeopardize our health. At worst, we embarrass ourselves; at best, we provide our comrades with a new perspective.

Which brings us back to the children.

I will go out on a limb and say that most of us, even before we could spell our own names, engineered vast and fantastic realms—with our toys, in our heads, scribbled on the walls. They were improbable, outlandish, perhaps prone to logical inconsistency, but damned if we didn't love them so. As we grew older, for various reasons, these worlds sank into the great void of apathy or forgetfulness; perhaps we had "outgrown" the subject matter, no longer had the time to devote to them, or had simply tired of our little universes and subjected their denizens to deism. So it goes.

But some of us never forgot, and held on to that creative spark from which those worlds were begotten. Years, maybe decades later, inspiration manifests again. It may not be in an identical manner (oil paints rather than crayons, the president of Uganda in place of your third-grade best friend, elegant prose that not once misspells 'furniture'), but the fundamental drive is the same: to express an idea hitherto unarticulated. Our bodies may be old, but our spirits remain eternally young.

Axe Cop is the sort of breakout genius that makes one slap one's forehead over its simplicity. The story is written by Malachai Nicolle, who at project's start was five years old. His brother Ethan is a professional cartoonist. The result is exactly as it sounds: a toddler's wild imagination given the same degree of illustration as the finest published graphic novels. It's such a glaringly obvious idea that one wonders why nobody thought of it sooner than 2009... until we recall the tyranny of the majority.

The comic is unique precisely because Ethan's art grants legitimacy to a source of creativity no-one previously considered worth the interest. Having played with plenty of toddlers, and having been one myself, I can attest to their wealth of inspiration. But how many of us have ever seriously thought their games of make-believe could ever reach parity with 'professional' sights and standards? Now, art being the subjective bugger of a topic it is, one can argue back and forth as to the the comic's 'critical' merits; as for my own opinion, that Axe Cop has a line of merchandise is proof enough of its marketability, and I strongly doubt it attracts fans solely for its ironic qualities.

Now, I am not advocating we all adopt a counter-culture of primitivism in pursuit of some sort of "immaculate" notion of originality; Axe Cop certainly isn't for everyone. But it shines as an example of creativity trumping convention; a chance playtime between siblings a generation's age apart has given one child's unassuming game of pretend an international showcase. And if it worked for Ethan and Malachai, why shouldn't it work elsewhere?

I can say, with some degree of personal pride, that I belong to the aforementioned group that never "grew up". I'm older, and wiser; my vocabulary has matured, and my grasp of the way the world works is exponentially stronger than it was even a decade ago. But when I look at the products of my ever-labouring mental machinery, my short stories, my cartoons, they all ultimately trace back to the same interests and ideas that adorned the depths of my imagination since before I was in school. Many of the characters I use today originated before I knew enough of world cultures to give them proper names. Their speech is more sophisticated, their junk science is better-justified, their political schemes are of grander consequence; but at their heart, they are the same players today that they were in the beginning, and as time marches on, I find only greater and greater uses for them.

So don't be too hasty to discard your childhood fantasies simply because they're childish; after all, if the Internet has proven anything, it's that there's an audience for everything. What you might self-censor as trivial nonsense, another may harness as the kindling spark of inspiration. A single quaint idea may prove the pioneer seed to a forest of excellence.

You'll never know until you try.