Rachel: The U.S. Patent Office has issued over 4,400 patents for a better mousetrap. Guess how many became commercially successful? Justine: Oh boy. Knowing how these things go, I’m going to say… a hundred? Rachel: About twenty. Justine: Twenty?! Out of more than four thousand? That’s… statistically depressing. Rachel: It is! And it perfectly captures the central lie we tell ourselves about innovation. It turns out, building a better mousetrap is the easy part. Convincing the world to care is nearly impossible. Justine: Wow. That one statistic just dismantled my entire "if you build it, they will come" philosophy of life. Rachel: Exactly. And it’s the perfect entry point into the book we’re diving into today: The Myths of Creativity by David Burkus. Burkus is an organizational psychologist, and his whole mission is to take these popular, feel-good stories about innovation—these myths—and hold them up against cold, hard research. Justine: I’m already intrigued. It feels like we’re about to get a much-needed reality check. So where does he start? After shattering my mousetrap dreams, what’s the next myth on the chopping block? Rachel: He goes for the biggest, most romanticized myth of all. The one we see in every movie about a genius. The 'Eureka!' moment.

Justine: Oh, I love that moment! Archimedes leaping out of the bath, Newton getting bonked on the head by an apple and suddenly understanding gravity. It’s the payoff! Rachel: It’s a great story. And according to Burkus, it’s almost entirely a fabrication. The Eureka Myth is this idea that creative insights arrive in a sudden, dramatic flash. But the research shows something far less dramatic and, honestly, far more interesting. Justine: Less dramatic than a naked scientist running through the streets shouting? I’m listening. Rachel: The real story of Newton, for example, isn't that an apple hit him and he instantly grasped the laws of universal gravitation. The earliest account, from a contemporary, says that after dinner one evening, the idea of gravity came into his mind. It was occasioned by the fall of an apple, as he sat in a contemplative mood. It wasn't a flash of insight; it was a prompt. A small nudge after years and years of intense study and preparation. Justine: Okay, so the apple was more like a notification on his phone that said, "Hey, remember that universe-sized problem you've been working on for a decade? Think about it now." Rachel: A perfect analogy. Burkus breaks down the creative process into five stages, based on the work of psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. There’s Preparation, which is all the hard work and research. Then comes Incubation, which is the crucial part we always forget. Justine: Incubation? What does that mean? Like letting an idea sit under a heat lamp? Rachel: Kind of! It’s stepping away from the problem. You work on it intensely, and then you stop. You go for a walk, you take a shower, you work on something completely unrelated. Your conscious mind is off the hook, but your unconscious mind is still churning, making connections. This is where the magic happens. After incubation comes the 'Aha!' moment, the Insight. Then Evaluation—is this idea actually any good? And finally, Elaboration—the hard work of actually building the thing. Justine: That makes so much more sense. It’s not a sudden miracle; it’s the result of a slow-cooker process. Rachel: Exactly. And the best story to illustrate this is the invention of the Post-it Note. It’s a perfect case study in how creativity really works. In the late 1960s, a 3M scientist named Spencer Silver was trying to create a super-strong adhesive. Instead, he accidentally created the opposite: a very weak, "low-tack" adhesive. It would stick, but you could peel it off easily without leaving residue. Justine: So, a total failure. Rachel: By the standards of his project, yes. He had this "solution" with no problem. For five years, he went around 3M, trying to find a use for his weird glue, but nobody was interested. That’s the preparation and a very long incubation period. Justine: Five years! I would have thrown it out and pretended it never happened. Rachel: But he didn't. Meanwhile, another 3M employee, Art Fry, was getting frustrated. He sang in his church choir and used little slips of paper to mark the hymns in his book, but they kept falling out. One day, during a particularly boring sermon, his mind started to wander. Justine: As one does. Rachel: And suddenly, he had his 'Aha!' moment. He remembered Spencer Silver's "useless" adhesive. What if he could put a little of that weak glue on his bookmarks? They would stick, but they wouldn't damage the pages. He connected an existing, seemingly useless idea to a problem he was experiencing. Justine: And the Post-it Note was born. That’s incredible. It wasn't one person's genius idea. It was a collision of an accidental discovery and a completely unrelated problem, years apart. Rachel: Precisely. It also debunks another myth Burkus tackles: the Originality Myth. We think ideas have to be completely new, sprung from nothing. But Burkus, citing people from Steve Jobs to Henry Ford, argues that creativity is just connecting things. Most ideas are combinations or remixes of older ideas. The Post-it Note wasn't a brand new invention; it was the combination of paper and a failed glue. Justine: It’s a relief, honestly. The pressure to be struck by a bolt of pure, original genius is paralyzing. Knowing it’s more like being a DJ, mixing existing tracks to create something new, feels so much more achievable. Rachel: That's the whole point. Demystifying the process makes it accessible to everyone. It’s not about waiting for a muse. It’s about doing the work, then letting your mind wander.

Justine: Okay, so the moment of creation is a myth. But what about the person? Surely some people are just born more creative, right? The artistic, free-spirited, 'lone genius' type. I’m just not that person. Rachel: Ah, you've just perfectly articulated the Breed Myth, the Lone Creator Myth, and the Expert Myth all in one go! Justine: I’m an efficient myth-believer! But come on, you look at someone like Albert Einstein or Thomas Edison, and it’s hard not to think they were just a different breed of human. Rachel: It is, and that’s a story we love to tell. But Burkus dismantles it beautifully. Let's take Edison. The image we have is of a lone genius, toiling away in his lab, having a thousand brilliant ideas. The reality? Edison’s greatest invention wasn't the lightbulb; it was his laboratory at Menlo Park. He called it an "invention factory." Justine: An invention factory? That sounds very… un-genius-like. It sounds industrial. Rachel: It was! He employed a team of dozens of engineers, machinists, and physicists—he called them his "muckers"—and they worked collaboratively on problems. Edison was the brilliant frontman, the brand, but the work was a team sport. One of his own assistants said that "Edison is in reality a collective noun." Justine: Whoa. So Edison was more like the CEO of a startup than a solitary artist. That completely changes the picture. Rachel: It does. And it shows that creativity isn't a solo performance. It thrives in collaboration. This also connects to the Expert Myth—the idea that you need to be the world's leading expert to have a breakthrough. Burkus tells this incredible story about a man named Jay Martin, who designed prosthetic limbs. Justine: Okay, that definitely sounds like a field where you’d want an expert. Rachel: You'd think. Martin had a vision for a new kind of prosthetic ankle that could adjust in real-time. He hired a team of PhD-level engineers, the best in the field. After months of work, they came back to him and said it was impossible. The technology just wasn't there. Justine: So, the experts said no. End of story. Rachel: Not for Martin. He fired the entire expert team. And then he hired a group of college interns with basic engineering knowledge but zero experience in robotics or prosthetics. Justine: That sounds like a recipe for disaster. What happened? Rachel: The interns, unburdened by the knowledge of what was "impossible," just started trying things. They went through countless cycles of trial and error. And because they didn't know they were supposed to fail, they didn't. They built a working prototype. Martin's company, Martin Bionics, became a leader in the field, and he says he almost exclusively hires interns now because their ideas are more innovative. Justine: That is absolutely wild. So the experts' knowledge actually blinded them, while the interns' ignorance was an advantage. Rachel: Exactly. Their expertise created a fixed mindset. This is a recurring theme in the book. Sometimes, the most creative solutions come from outsiders, from people who don't know the rules and therefore don't know they can't be broken. Justine: This is fascinating, but I can hear some listeners, and some of the book's critics, saying these are cherry-picked examples. Is it really true that anyone can be creative, or are these just inspiring but rare exceptions? Rachel: That's a fair challenge. And Burkus addresses it by pointing not just to individuals, but to entire company structures. He talks about W. L. Gore & Associates—the makers of Gore-Tex—which has a "lattice" structure. There are no bosses, no job titles, no departments. People are just "associates," and they self-select into projects they're passionate about. There's no "creative department" versus "the suits." The belief is that everyone has the potential to contribute a great idea. Justine: That sounds like organized chaos. But it works? Rachel: It works to the tune of billions in revenue. The point isn't that every company should be a chaotic free-for-all. The point is that the belief that creativity is limited to a certain breed of person is what holds companies back. When you create a system that assumes everyone can be innovative, you unlock a massive amount of potential.

Rachel: And that idea of building the right system brings us to the final, and maybe most radical, set of myths: the ones about the process of creativity. We have this image of the perfect creative environment: a fun, playful atmosphere, total freedom, and lots of brainstorming sessions with beanbag chairs. Justine: I mean, that sounds pretty good to me. What’s wrong with that? Rachel: According to the research, almost everything. Let's start with the Brainstorming Myth. The idea, popularized in the 1950s, is that if you get a group together and just throw out ideas without judgment, you'll get a creative breakthrough. Justine: Wait, so brainstorming is a myth? But every company on Earth does it! It's like the corporate national anthem. Rachel: And studies consistently show that individuals brainstorming alone come up with more and better ideas than a group does. In a group setting, you get problems like "production blocking"—only one person can talk at a time—and social loafing. But the bigger issue is that brainstorming is treated as the entire process, when it should only be one small step in a much larger framework. Justine: Okay, so if not brainstorming, what's the alternative? Rachel: Structured conflict. Justine: You're saying a team meeting should be more like a debate club than a friendly get-together? That sounds terrifying and unproductive! Rachel: It sounds that way because we're afraid of conflict. But Burkus highlights a crucial distinction between interpersonal conflict, which is personal and destructive, and task-focused conflict, which is about the ideas and is incredibly productive. The best example is Pixar. Justine: Pixar seems like the ultimate fun, creative place. They have a giant Luxo lamp outside their headquarters! Rachel: On the surface, yes. But their creative process is built on a foundation of brutal, honest, structured debate. They have meetings called the "Braintrust," where directors and writers present their work-in-progress. The goal of the room is not to cheerlead; it's to tear the film apart and identify its flaws. Justine: That sounds soul-crushing. How does anyone survive that? Rachel: They have a key rule, a concept they call "plussing." You cannot criticize an idea without offering a solution. You can't just say, "That character's motivation is weak." You have to say, "That character's motivation feels weak. What if we tried this instead?" It keeps the criticism constructive and focused on making the project better, not on attacking the person. Justine: Ah, so it's conflict with a purpose. It's not just tearing down; it's building up. I can see how that would work. It forces everyone to be a problem-solver. Rachel: Exactly. And this leads to the last big paradox: the Constraints Myth. We think creativity needs total freedom—unlimited time, unlimited budget. Burkus argues the opposite is true. Creativity loves constraints. Justine: Come on. How can having less of something lead to a better outcome? That defies logic. Rachel: Think about it this way: if I give you a blank piece of paper and say "draw something creative," most people freeze. The infinite possibility is paralyzing. But if I draw a single squiggly line on that paper and say, "turn this into something," you have a starting point. You have a problem to solve. A constraint. Justine: Okay, that makes sense. The blank page is intimidating. The squiggle is an invitation. Rachel: The book gives a great business example with the company 37signals, now known as Basecamp. When they started, they were a web design firm. But instead of billing by the hour, they imposed a constraint: they charged a flat fee per page and promised to deliver it in one week. This forced them to be incredibly efficient and creative, cutting out all the unnecessary features and focusing only on what was essential. That constraint became their competitive advantage. Justine: So the limitations forced them to innovate. They had to find a better, simpler way to work. Rachel: Yes. Constraints are not the walls of the box; they are the walls of the playground. They give you a structure to push against. Whether it's a tight budget, a short deadline, or a difficult rule like Pixar's "plussing," these limitations channel creative energy in powerful ways.

Rachel: So when you put it all together, a completely different picture of creativity emerges. It's not a magical spark that hits a lone genius in a moment of sudden insight. And it doesn't happen in a perfect, frictionless environment with unlimited resources. Justine: It’s a slow, messy, collaborative process that often thrives on argument and limitation. That is so much less romantic than the stories we tell. Rachel: It is. But the beauty of that, as Burkus shows, is that it means creativity is accessible. It's not a divine gift bestowed upon a chosen few. It's a process. It's a team sport. It's a skill that can be learned and practiced. Justine: It’s almost a relief. It takes the pressure off waiting for a lightning bolt of inspiration that may never come. It gives you permission to just start, to do the work, to have bad ideas, to argue, and to trust that something good will emerge from the process. Rachel: That's the core message. Stop waiting to be creative and start building the systems and habits that allow creativity to happen. Justine: It makes me wonder, what's one 'creativity myth' we've all bought into in our own lives or workplaces? For me, it's definitely the brainstorming myth. I've sat in so many of those meetings thinking, "Is this really working?" Rachel: For me, it's the Lone Creator myth. The idea that you have to figure it all out yourself. It's so liberating to think of it as a team effort. Justine: We'd love to hear from our listeners on this. What's a myth you're ready to let go of after this discussion? Is it the need for a Eureka moment? The idea that you're not a "creative type"? Let us know. The conversation is always richer with more voices. Rachel: This is Aibrary, signing off.