Putting the science of creativity into practice

Or, using my own advice

In the past couple of posts, I shared my experience writing The Creativity Choice (almost published!!! you can preorder now here!). A friend asked me whether I used the strategies I discuss in the book in the process of writing it. Yes, I did. This post is about how and how it worked.

On creative confidence

I am a scientist and I have creative confidence about my research. But writing a book for the general public is a different animal altogether. The truth is, I did not start out having confidence. I have read that women have to be asked (on average) seven times to run for political office before they actually do it. Well, I did not have to be asked seven times to write a book, but decided to seriously consider it only after a colleague suggested it. And that is one of the lessons about creative confidence (or, what psychologists call creative self-efficacy) in this book. We do not have to trust we can do something to get started. Looking to others and what they believe we can do can give us information about what we are capable of that we are not even aware of ourselves. When others have trust in you, believe them. I did.

Creative confidence is also not static. Once you have enough of it to get going, even if your tank is only ¼ full, every bit of progress will help build confidence. As I completed the book proposal (something I have never done before and therefore was not sure whether I could or knew how), my confidence grew. As the book proposal got sold to a major publisher, my confidence grew. As I finished the first chapter… you get the point. And I kept reminding myself of these pieces of progress and small wins every time a chapter refused to take shape or words did not want to come out for several days. In those times of doubt and frustration, remembering successes certainly helped.

On finding my own rhythm

Of course, I have heard all the writing advice. Write every day. Yes, certainly. And I did. Mostly. No Christmas, one day off a week for sheer sanity (and going to art museums; they make me feel alive), birthdays, Thursdays which are my day job morning til night meeting days. When applying any principle, it is the spirit of it that matters, not necessarily the literal letter of the rule.

The most common piece of writing advice I heard is to do it in early the morning. But I am not a morning person. If I tried to get up at 5am to write, I would fall apart in a matter of days. Without having anything written. In finding my own writing rhythm, I turned to emotions as a guide. Emotion science has found that different kinds of feelings are related to particular ways of thinking. We can choose to do those tasks that are best suited for specific feelings. Here, I used what I know about my typical feelings at different times to devise a personal writing schedule. In the mornings, I tend to feel cloudy. Pessimistic, seeing all that is wrong with the world. Therefore, this is the best time to edit; in these moods I could see all that could and should be changed. In the later afternoons and into the evening, I start feeling brighter. At these times I can think more broadly, be playful. This is the best time to write something new. So, I would do a round of editing, work on my day job, and in the late afternoon go to Barnes and Noble, sit in front of the psychology section to picture my book on the shelf, and write.

On problem finding and problem solving

The science of creativity tells us that the key for successful problem solving and creative work is what Jacob Getzels and Mihalyi Csikszentmihalyi called problem finding. Problem finding means asking questions and identifying topics that are going to strike a nerve with an audience in a “this is what I needed” way. I recognized that I found a great book topic when the first blog I ever posted got 12,000 readers in just a few days and when I was approached by several literary agents who were interested in what I was writing about.

But problem finding does not only mean identifying one big question. It also means exploring and experimenting under that broad umbrella. The broad topic of the book never changed – how do we transform creative ideas into performances and products – but what exactly I planned to say certainly changed. For example, I did not originally plan to have a chapter on the creative block. My editor suggested it and in retrospect I am very glad. In the moment, the change in plans can feel … heavy. Frustrating. Anxiety provoking because it adds another layer of unknowns in the already difficult process. Reminding myself that the best creative products embrace these changes helped me embrace them myself. Some chapters I planned were split into two and for some the content kept changing.

On dealing with feelings

Writing is hard. All creative work is hard. It is also fulfilling. At times fun. Occasionally exhilarating. But it is all these wonderful and energizing things exactly because it is difficult. At times we do not know how to proceed. Even if I had a good idea about the main points I wanted to convey, there were times when it was simply not taking shape. All of that is stressful. Of course, deadlines make it even more so.

In addition to the work of writing, I had to keep my day job being a research scientist, which involves working with statistics and a completely different kind of writing. That is pressure and stress on top of pressure and stress.

I relied on all the strategies of emotion science to make it through. I proactively wrote chapters that seemed ‘easier’ to feel the uplift of progress. I prepared and outlined for those chapters that were further away from my own research. And when truly blocked, I reminded myself explicitly of how Thomas Edison said he did not fail, but discovered 10,000 ways not to do something. I tried to remind myself that frustration is temporary and reframed difficulties as learning. I have to admit at not mastering the art of self-compassion, but I am fortunate to have many people around whose kindness helps counteract my tendency toward self-criticism.

On writing as a lone activity

The act of writing is solitary. I am the only one putting words on the page. But it is also true that this book would not exist without many others. I have shared stories of creative professionals in the book. Some are former colleagues or collaborators, some are a few degrees removed, some I met at events where I spoke, and some I reached out cold (my favorite YouTuber, Max Miller of Tasting History!). I knew I wanted to provide stories from people we rarely hear from and showcase that creativity truly exists in any area of human endeavor. I knew that when we need new perspectives and ideas, we should reach out to those we don’t talk with often and I took it to heart.

But creative work also needs strong relationships to help us develop specific ideas and support us on the rollercoaster ride of creativity. There, the list is long.

The point is, contrary to what the world of self-help says, you cannot do it alone. One never does it alone. This matters to keep perspective and a bit of humility, but it also should make us pause and think about the social nature of creativity and how to make it happen.