How Does Creativity Work: The Psychological Mess That Surprisingly… Works?
I was sitting upside down in my chair yesterday, frustrated at the plot points I had worked on.
It was cliche and just so boring.
I wanted to finalise the plot points for my novel. I wanted to explore why men should strive to be better, but my plot points read like the inside of a 50 cent fortune cookie. So, there I was, feeling like my creativity had clocked out early, wondering why my mind could summon up entire stories in the shower but failed me completely once I opened Scrivener.
What exactly was going on here? How could I feel so alive with ideas one moment, and so completely dead in the water later?
The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to understand creativity. What was the psychology behind it all? Was there some hidden code?
The further I went down this rabbit hole, the more I realised I had to do a trilogy of articles. So, clap and follow me!
Each insight only raised more questions, each psychological theory opened doors to new perspectives.
But first, the psychological mess that surprisingly works.
There’s Two Modes
At first glance, creativity might seem like pure chaos. It's a rush of ideas that come flooding in from every direction, with little rhyme or reason. It's an old idea of how the “gods” spoke to us and creative people were conduits.
But the reality is more structured.
Yup, structured.
According to psychologist J.P. Guilford’s who did some research on creativity in the 1950s, two cognitive processes are at play: divergent thinking, where the brain generates multiple ideas or solutions, and convergent thinking, which refines and narrows those ideas into something tangible.
Divergent thinking is what most of us think of as “being creative”. It's the brainstorming, the wild connections, the sense of freedom. But without convergent thinking, those raw ideas would never become real. They would stay as fragments, unable to take shape into anything useful. Convergent thinking provides the discipline necessary to sharpen and focus these ideas.
For me, this plays out through what I call my “Black Book” of ideas. It’s the notebook that is always with me. In this book, I dump of my thoughts, characters, quotes, plot twists, anything that sparks my imagination. There’s no structure, no rules. And yes, it’s a mess. It’s pure, unfiltered divergent thinking.
But I make it a habit to revisit this book, to sit down and mine it for the valuable nuggets hidden in the chaos. That’s where convergent thinking takes over. It’s about sifting through the insanity, pulling out the ideas that have potential, and giving them structure.
I am responsible for expanding storylines, enhancing characters, and forming them into a coherent whole.
It’s this process where I go from unstructured exploration to focused refinement that fuels my creativity. This is the “how creativity works” in play. The Black Book allows for divergent thinking, while the intentional review allows for convergent thinking.
However, this relationship between divergent and convergent thinking isn’t without its complications. Some critics argue that convergent thinking limits creativity by forcing premature judgment on ideas. But research shows that both processes must exist in harmony. Without refinement, raw ideas remain just messy and unpolished. No one wants my Black Book of ideas! People want completed books and thought out movies!
Without divergent thinking, creativity would be little more than problem-solving. Without convergent thinking, creativity would actually be an unrefined nightmare of a mess. Creativity works between the two the two states, knowing when to let the mind wander and when to bring it back into focus.
Creativity When Your Not Looking
I cannot tell you how many ideas I’ve had when showering.
Or when I’m walking the dog. Or at the gym. It even happens in a meeting I really don’t want to be a part of.
Boiling it down, I get ideas when I am not being deliberately creative. And I’m willing to bet that this is much more common with other creatives. So why is it that so much of divergent thinking occurs when we are not actually working?
Psychologist Bluma Zeigarnik discovered unfinished tasks remain in the back of our minds. This subtly urges us to solve them. This is known as the Zeigarnik effect. It’s why you might suddenly have a breakthrough on a project when you’ve stepped away from your desk. Your brain, in its downtime, makes unexpected connections that conscious thought might have missed.
At first glance, this sounds like a gift to creatives. When we hit a wall, the Zeigarnik effect suggests that walking away isn’t just a break, but a solution. In that downtime, our minds can explore without restrictions. Often, during this time we discover the breakthroughs the world needs. This period of “letting go” allows the subconscious mind to step in, free from the constraints of focused effort. In many ways, it’s like planting seeds and letting them germinate out of sight.
But the Zeigarnik effect isn’t universally beneficial. Just as it can nudge us toward creativity, it can also weigh us down. The compulsion to finish what we’ve started isn’t always gentle. Sometimes, it’s an itch that refuses to be scratched. For some, this lingering sense of unfinished business feels more like a burden. The longer we leave tasks incomplete, the more they pile up in the back of our minds like clutter. This can easily tip into anxiety, making it difficult to discern which tasks are worth revisiting and which are best left ignored.
Words like “lingering” and “nagging” capture this effect. They illustrate how these thoughts often feel like an uninvited guest overstaying their welcome. Language reflects our ambivalence: we crave closure, but not always on the timeline that creativity demands. Some creatives thrive under the gentle pressure of unfinished tasks, feeling invigorated by the pull towards completion. However, for others, this same attraction can become a burden, making it difficult to make progress.
Just as the Zeigarnik effect illustrates how unfinished tasks persist in our minds, Graham Wallas’s concept of the incubation period complements this idea by showing how stepping away can foster breakthroughs. As he outlined in his famous four stages of creativity, after intense focus comes an incubation period. In this stage, the unconscious mind takes over, allowing fresh insights to bubble up to the surface.
At its core, the incubation period is about letting go to let things grow.
Studies suggest that when we disengage from a task, our brains continue working behind the scenes. It works passively to connect the dots we might miss in the heat of focused effort. Some of these tasks include going for a walk, cooking, or even daydreaming. For many creatives, this period of “downtime” is when the best ideas seem to strike. It’s the reason why you might suddenly find a solution to a problem while folding laundry or riding the bus. Or the shower.
But this gentle process of incubation isn’t without its critics. For some, it’s a euphemism for procrastination. Not every problem can — or should — be left to percolate. Some challenges demand direct and sustained focus. And even when incubation does work, it’s not as passive as it sounds. The language we use around incubation — terms like “marinate” or “percolate” — suggests a slow and organic growth process. Yet, incubation is more than just waiting for ideas to hatch. It’s an active mental dance, where our subconscious mines for patterns and possibilities.
The truth is, incubation walks a fine line between inspiration and avoidance. Many creatives, myself included, play into this process. I’ve experienced it countless times. When hitting the writing wall, I decide to step away, and later, out of nowhere, the solution appears.
But not everyone agrees that unconscious processing is the answer to every creative problem. Sure, it’s great when you’re facing a creative block or need a fresh perspective, but some tasks require deliberate attention. As with writing a novel or solving a complex design problem, waiting for the unconscious to deliver the answer might not be an option.
That’s where the balance is the creative’s responsibility.
The unconscious mind works best after the groundwork has been laid. This is where the prep work is done, options have bene considered, and now, things can fall into place. Words like “incubate” or “let it marinate” describe this process well. They remind us that creativity doesn’t just work when ideas are forced, but also when it ripens.
Hi Freud
Where creativity is spawned, the unconscious mind often takes center stage. According to Sigmund Freud, it’s not just conscious effort that leads to creative insights; rather, it’s the hidden layers of our psyche that drive it. This is the unresolved conflicts, repressed memories, or hidden desires that bubble up. This process gives rise to what we might call “spontaneous inspiration.”
You might not realize it, but your mind is processing, rearranging, and incubating thoughts even when you’re not consciously aware of it.
This notion aligns beautifully with Graham Wallas’s concept of incubation. Freud’s theory offers a psychoanalytic twist to Wallas’s idea by suggesting that these insights are influenced not just by idle thought but also by the hidden parts of our mind, parts that might be untapped under the surface.
The Zeigarnik effect takes this a step further. When we leave tasks incomplete, our minds hold onto them, creating a tension that seeks resolution. In this light, Freud’s ideas suggest that even unresolved internal conflicts could feed into this tension, influencing the ideas during incubation. The unconscious mind doesn’t just process unfinished thoughts; it also draws from deeper psychological layers. This adds depth and unexpected connections to our creative work.
Critics of Freud argue that the unconscious mind’s role in creativity lacks empirical support. However, even as newer theories challenge Freud’s ideas, the concept of the unconscious remains relevant. Many artists and writers describe experiences that seem to emerge from a place they can’t fully explain, as if the source of their ideas lies beyond their reach. While some believe ongoing conscious reflection influenced these insights, others feel the unconscious mind offers creative freedom that structured thinking can’t quite capture.
In the end, I’ve come to accept that creativity is as messy as my Black Book. It is something bursting with ideas, characters, and plot that would give any sane reader real joy.
But it turns out, this chaos isn’t a bug; it’s a feature.
The psychology of creativity has shown me that frustration, like the Zeigarnik Effect and Wallas’s incubation period, is actually part of the process. Sure, I could wish for a more straightforward path to inspiration, but where’s the fun in that?
Maybe creativity is about learning to love the mess. After all, if I weren’t tangled up mess of unconscious musings and unfinished plot points, I’d probably be a lot more boring.
And what kind of story would that be?
Biblography
Guilford, J.P. Creativity. American Psychologist, 1950.
Wallas, G. (1926). The Art of Thought. New York: Harcourt, Brace & Company.
Zeigarnik, B. (1927). On finished and unfinished tasks. Psychologische Forschung.
Freud, S. (1915). The Unconscious. In Collected Papers. London: Hogarth Press.
