Imagine How creativity works

Review by Choice Review

For those acquainted with Lehrer's two previous books, Proust Was a Neuroscientist (2007) and How We Decide (CH, Aug'09, 46-6789), the format of the present volume will be quite familiar. The subject, in this case the creative process, is broken down into two subcategories--"Alone" and "Together"--each illumined by anecdote, case study, and scientific findings from the field and laboratory. In the course of looking at art, invention, and improvisation, the author has focused on creative works and products ranging from West Side Story, Bob Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone," and Shakespeare's Henry VI to the personal computer, Post-It notes, and Nike's "Just Do It" slogan. He explores the creative work of individuals--including Steve Jobs, Paul Erdos, Jack Kerouac, and Yo-Yo Ma--and innovative institutions such as 3-M, Google, Second City, Pixar, and Eli Lilly. Lehrer examines both standard approaches to the study of creativity and recent developments in psychology and neuroscience, for example, right-brain functioning, neuronal learning, recursive loops, semantic priming, conceptual blending, and informational entropy. This is a fitting companion to the author's earlier work and an informative introduction to one of the most elusive of human capacities, the creative imagination. Summing Up: Highly recommended. Lower- and upper-division undergraduates; graduate students; professionals; general readers. R. M. Davis emeritus, Albion College

Copyright American Library Association, used with permission.

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Review by New York Times Review

HAVE you ever wondered how Nike came by its famous slogan "Just Do It"? Neither have I, but it's an interesting story. Dan Wieden was searching for a tag line to unify a series of ads his agency was making for Nike. Late one night he suddenly thought about the convicted murderer Gary Gilmore, whose last words before his execution were "Let's do it." Sitting at his desk Wieden turned that phrase over in his mind until it became "Just do it." Accolades ensued. Reflecting later, Wieden realized he'd thought of Gilmore because someone at work had mentioned Norman Mailer recently, and Wieden knew that Mailer had written a book about Gilmore. Without that serendipitous chain of associations, Nike might have wound up with a different slogan: "A sneaker is forever"? "Got kicks"? Jonah Lehrer tells many stories like this in "Imagine: How Creativity Works." Along with admen, his examples come from famous musicians and poets, obscure scientists, even large corporations like 3M and Eli Lilly. He deploys them to illustrate the science of creativity, and he derives from that science some tips for readers to become more creative and for society to promote innovative thinking. The story-study-lesson cycle is a proven formula in science writing, but in Lehrer's hands it grows formulaic. The stories too often feature clichéd piffle (a chance interaction, he says, can "change the way we think about everything") and end with treacly flourishes ("This is what we sound like when nothing is holding us back"). Conclusions appear that don't really make sense: from the intriguing fact that certain dementia patients suddenly become very creative, Lehrer deduces "an uplifting moral, which is that all of us contain a vast reservoir of untapped creativity." But the research says nothing about "all of us," nor whether and how we might access this conjectured reserve. Creativity resists easy study; to measure creative potential in individuals, psychologists still rely on tests that are more than 40 years old and far from universally admired. Lehrer elides this history in favor of more recent research in two broad categories: neuroscience (what happens in the brain around moments of insight or invention) and context (what kinds of external conditions foster creative achievement). Malcolm Gladwell says on the book's jacket that Lehrer "knows more about science than a lot of scientists." However he has determined this, it cannot be from this book, which includes many elementary errors. Visual information from the left eye does not go only to the brain's right hemisphere; information from the left visual field does. The different electrodes in an EEG don't record brain waves of different frequencies; they record from different locations on the scalp. And the enzyme COMT is not involved in producing dopamine; it breaks it down. Even simple facts are wrong. Bridgeport, Conn., is not an "abnormally wealthy" city (it is poorer than average), and the Apple I computer did not have 256 kilobytes of memory (it had 4). This may sound like nitpicking. But science writers, like teachers, have an obligation to get the facts right. When enough details are wrong, readers may lose confidence in the big picture. Even when discussing basic ideas about creativity, the book is not sure-footed. Lehrer describes a test in which subjects must guess what word is associated with three others - say, "computer," "sauce" and "crab." In Lehrer's account, the task requires divergent thinking: the kind that yields multiple good solutions, as when psychologists ask people to generate alternate uses for objects (e.g., using a brick to prop open a window or to cook a chicken rather than to build a house). But most psychologists agree the word test actually measures convergent thinking, a process that converges on a single right answer. In this case, what's interesting is that the answer (which is "apple") seems to appear in consciousness as a flash of insight. The test captures the eureka moment in a reproducible laboratory procedure - just keep changing the words and you can run it dozens of times to reveal which brain area becomes active before the solution hits: the right anterior superior temporal gyrus. (Unfortunately, the book's diagram labels this area incorrectly.) More troubling is Lehrer's failure to grasp some fundamental principles of scientific thinking. He uncritically accepts studies whose results support his argument, rarely bothering to discuss whether or how often they have been replicated. On the basis of one experiment, for instance, he claims that "being surrounded by blue walls makes us more creative." Maybe, or maybe not. The researchers actually displayed questions on a computer screen with a blue background, and research on such "color priming" effects is hardly settled science. Perhaps Lehrer thinks the findings must be valid because they appeared in a prestigious journal. Unfortunately, real science is a messy business in which this assumption is often incorrect, and good science writers should explain as much. Again, this is not hairsplitting. The goal of "Imagine," according to its subtitle, is to tell us "how creativity works" - to offer a scientific, mechanistic account of a seemingly ineffable phenomenon. And what distinguishes the scientific from other modes of thinking is not its technology, level of detail or even subject matter, but its ability to discover reliable cause-and-effect relationships. The clarity of physics and chemistry is rare in social science, but this is no license for presenting interesting speculations as settled truths. LEHRER often errs in drawing causal conclusions from data that is merely correlational. For example, after describing a study that found that highly creative employees consulted more colleagues on their projects than did less creative employees (a correlation between creativity and social interaction), Lehrer concludes, "office conversations are so powerful that simply increasing their quantity can dramatically increase creative production." But it seems equally plausible that productive people who are brimming with ideas will be chattier than their unproductive, blocked fellows. Just as chattiness might lead to creativity, so might creativity lead to chattiness. As the study is described, either could be true. But Lehrer does not acknowledge this possibility, let alone tell us whether it has been tested. The nadir of his book's logic is reached when even the anecdotes don't support the conclusions Lehrer draws from them. The lesson of "Just Do It" is said to be "the importance of incorporating a little weirdness into the creative process." But Dan Wieden's story - an everyday example of creativity emerging from unexpected associations - in no way establishes that deliberately adding weirdness would have any value at all. The only weirdness here is the connection between a killer and an athletic shoe, and no one incorporated it into any process. The best way to think about "Imagine" is as a collection of interesting stories and studies to ponder and research further. Use it as a source of inspiration, but make your own careful choices about whether to believe what it says about the science of creativity. To gauge creative potential, psychologists use tests that are more than 40 years old and far from widely admired. Christopher Chabris is a psychology professor at Union College and a co-author, with Daniel Simons, of "The Invisible Gorilla, and Other Ways Our Intuitions Deceive Us."

Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [May 13, 2012]

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Review by Booklist Review

Creativity a flash in the pan or 99-percent perspiration? A-list journalist Lehrer (How We Decide, 2009) tackles the question in broad strokes, covering topics as diverse as office layouts, urban planning, drug use, and brain chemistry. It turns out that the question isn't easy to answer, for it seems that a method used by one creative person doesn't translate for another. Lehrer describes the creative activities of such luminaries as David Byrne and the CEO of Pixar, then dissects why each approach works for that individual or group. Some examples are a bit of a stretch. The section on Shakespeare, for instance, is eye-rollingly speculative. But, just as Lehrer points out that explicit instruction is anathema to creative play and discovery, he seems to say in each section, Isn't this neat? and leave the bulk of the work to the reader's imagination. In that sense, Imagine is a great introduction for anyone curious about the nature and dynamics of creativity.--Hunter, Sarah Copyright 2010 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Journalist and pop-science phenom Lehrer (How We Decide) muses on the development of "our most important mental talent: the ability to imagine what has never existed." Arguing that "the standard definition of creativity is completely wrong," he reveals the ways in which innovative thinking is a profusion of processes rather than a singular element of cognition. Stories of groundbreaking artists, ideas, and inventions are interwoven with discoveries from the forefront of modern neuroscience to support the notion that moments of great insight are always preceded by long slogs of hard work. The science offers new ways to understand the various methods humans have used to prepare their minds when confronted by seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Conditions that we've long understood to enhance creativity (e.g., urban mingling, drug consumption, travel), but whose mechanisms escaped us, are explored in detail, on both the individual and group level. Other seldom-acknowledged elements come into play, too, like possessing an amateur's ignorance, letting go of the fear of failure, or the benefits of a "drowsy brain." Along the way Lehrer also debunks the myth of brainstorming, and demonstraties how companies like 3M and Pixar have become so successful. He concludes with a discussion of several "meta-idea[s]"-such as intellectual property, education, and a willingness to take risks-which Lehrer deems crucial to fostering a culture of imaginative innovation. (Mar. 19) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

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Review by Library Journal Review

In his new book on creativity, Lehrer (How We Decide) presents captivating case studies of innovative minds, companies, and cities while tying in the latest in scientific research. He recounts the sometimes surprising origins of hugely successful inventions, brands, and ideas (e.g., the Swiffer mop, Barbie doll, Pixar animation) and reveals unexpected commonalities in the creative experiences (e.g., the color blue, distractedness, living abroad). The book combines individual case studies with broader psychology to provide new insights into creativity, much like Sheena Iyengar's The Art of Choosing. Many of Lehrer's insights are based on emerging scientific practices and are thus fresh and especially applicable to modern life. He emphasizes innovative companies and experimental approaches to education and includes historical factoids that reveal the backstories of everyday items. VERDICT Lehrer's findings can be used to inform the design of innovative programs or to structure a productive work environment at home or at the office. This book will appeal to educators, business administrators, and readers interested in applied psychology. [See Prepub Alert, 10/15/11.]-Ryan Nayler, Univ. of Toronto Lib., Ont. (c) Copyright 2012. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Wired and Wall Street Journal contributor Lehrer (How We Decide, 2009, etc.) explores creativity from the inside out, looking at the mechanics of the brain and the effects of mental states from sadness to depression to dementia. He takes readers to laboratories where neuroscientists and psychologists are conducting controlled experiments on creativity, and he gets inside the talented minds of songwriter Bob Dylan, graphic artist Milton Glaser, cellist Yo-Yo Ma and engineer/inventor Arthur Fry. Lehrer examines how social interaction and collaboration promote creativity within a company, using Pixar studios as an example, and how these factors operate in communities, citing Silicon Valley and Tel Aviv as places that foster innovation by enabling people to interact, converse with strangers as well as colleagues and encounter new ideas. Shakespeare's London was just such a place, and the author presents factors that made it so, such as a critical density of population and an explosion of literacy. Lehrer also explores what he calls the outsider factor, showing how newcomers to a field or people working in tangential areas generate new approaches to old problems. America, he writes, can increase its collective creativity if it so chooses. The author points out that our schools already do so with athletes, encouraging and rewarding them from a young age, and the same steps can be taken to nourish our brightest, most imaginative children, as demonstrated by the success of schools like the New Orleans Center for the Creative Arts and San Diego's High Tech High. Further, Lehrer argues for policy changes to enhance our nation's creativity: immigration reform because immigrants account for a disproportionate number of patent applications in the United States, and patent reform, in order to reward and thereby promote innovation. Lehrer writes with verve, creating an informative, readable book that sparkles with ideas.]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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Introduction Procter and Gamble had a problem: it needed a new floor cleaner. In the 1980s, the company had pioneered one lucrative consumer product after another, from pull-up diapers to anti-dandruff shampoo. It had developed color-safe detergent and designed a quilted paper towel that could absorb 85 percent more liquid than other paper towels. These innovations weren't lucky accidents: Procter and Gamble was deeply invested in research and development. At the time, the corporation had more scientists on staff than any other company in the world, more PhDs than the faculties of MIT, UC-Berkeley, and Harvard combined . And yet, despite the best efforts of the chemists in the household- cleaning division, there were no new floor products in the pipeline. The company was still selling the same lemon-scented detergents and cloth mops; consumers were still sweeping up their kitchens using wooden brooms and metal dustpans. The reason for this creative failure was simple: it was extremely difficult to make a stronger floor cleaner that didn't also damage the floor. Although Procter and Gamble had invested millions of dollars in a new generation of soaps, these products tended to fail during the rigorous testing phase, as they peeled off wood varnishes and irritated delicate skin. The chemists assumed that they had exhausted the chemical possibilities. That's when Procter and Gamble decided to try a new approach. The company outsourced its innovation needs to Continuum, a design firm with offices in Boston and Los Angeles. "I think P and G came to us because their scientists were telling them to give up," says Harry West, a leader on the soap team and now Continuum's CEO. "So they told us to think crazy, to try to come up with something that all those chemists couldn't." But the Continuum designers didn't begin with molecules. They didn't spend time in the lab worrying about the chemistry of soap. Instead, they visited people's homes and watched dozens of them engage in the tedious ritual of floor cleaning. The designers took detailed notes on the vacuuming of carpets and the sweeping of kitchens. When the notes weren't enough, they set up video cameras in living rooms. "This is about the most boring footage you can imagine," West says. "It's movies of mopping, for God's sake. And we had to watch hundreds of hours of it." The videotapes may have been tedious, but they were also essential, since West and his team were trying to observe the act of floor cleaning without any preconceptions. "I wanted to forget everything I knew about mops and soaps and brooms," he says. "I wanted to look at the problem as if I'd just stepped off a spaceship from Mars." After several months of observation -- West refers to this as the anthropologist phase -- the team members had their first insight. It came as they watched a woman clean her mop in the bathtub. "You've got this unwieldy pole," West says. "And you are splashing around this filthy water trying to get the dirt out of a mop head that's been expressly designed to attract dirt. It's an extraordinarily unpleasant activity." In fact, when the Continuum team analyzed the videotapes, they found that people spent more time cleaning their mops than they did cleaning the floors; the tool made the task more difficult. "Once I realized how bad mopping was, I became quite passionate about floor cleaning," West says. "I became convinced that the world didn't need an improved version of the mop. Instead, it needed a total replacement for the mop. It's a hopeless piece of technology."    Unfortunately, the Continuum designers couldn't think of a better cleaning method. It seemed like an impossible challenge. Perhaps floor cleaning was destined to be an inefficient chore. In desperation, the team returned to making house visits, hoping for some errant inspiration. One day, the designers were watching an elderly woman sweep some coffee grounds off the kitchen floor. She got out her hand broom and carefully brushed the grounds into a dustpan. But then something interesting happened. After the woman was done sweeping, she wet a paper towel and wiped it over the linoleum, picking up the last bits of spilled coffee. Although everyone on the Continuum team had done the same thing countless times before, this particular piece of dirty paper led to a revelation. What the designers saw in that paper towel was the possibility of a disposable cleaning surface. "All of a sudden, we realized what needed to be done," says Don Buchner, a Continuum vice president. "We needed to invent a spot cleaner that people could just throw away. No more cleaning mop heads, no more bending over in the bathtub, no more buckets of dirty water. That was our big idea." A few weeks later, this epiphany gave rise to their first floor-cleaning prototype. It was a simple thing, just a slender plastic stick connected to a flat rectangle of Velcro to which disposable pieces of electrostatic tissue were attached. A spray mechanism was built into the device, allowing people to wet the floor with a mild soap before they applied the wipes. (The soap was mostly unnecessary, but it smelled nice.) "You know an idea has promise when it seems obvious in retrospect," West says. "Why splash around dirty water when you can just wipe up the dirt? And why would you bother to clean this surface? Why not just throw it away, like a used paper towel?" Procter and Gamble, however, wasn't thrilled with the concept. The company had developed a billion-dollar market selling consumers the latest mops and soaps. They didn't want to replace that business with an untested cleaning product. The first focus groups only reinforced the skepticism. When Procter and Gamble presented consumers with a sketch of the new cleaning device, the vast majority of people rejected the concept. They didn't want to throw out their mops or have to rely on a tool that was little more than a tissue on a stick. They didn't like the idea of disposable wipes, and they didn't understand how all that dirt would get onto the moistened piece of paper. And so the idea was shelved; Procter and Gamble wasn't going to risk market share on a radical new device that nobody wanted.    But the designers at Continuum refused to give up -- they were convinced they'd discovered the mop of the future. After a year of pleading, they persuaded Procter and Gamble to let them show their prototype to a focus group. Instead of just reading a description of the product, consumers could now play with an "experiential model" clad in roughly cut plastic. The prototype made all the difference: people were now enthralled by the cleaning tool, which they tested out on actual floors. In fact, the product scored higher in focus-group sessions than any other cleaning device Procter and Gamble had ever tested. "It was off the charts," Buchner says. "The same people who hated the idea when it was just an idea now wanted to take the thing home with them." Furthermore, tests by Procter and Gamble demonstrated that the new product cleaned the floor far better than sponge mops, string mops, or any other kinds of mops. According to the corporate scientists, the "tissue on a stick" was one of the most effective floor cleaners ever invented. In 1997, nearly three years after West and his designers began making their videotapes, Procter and Gamble officially submitted an application for a U.S. patent. In the early spring of 1999, the new cleaning tool was introduced in supermarkets across the country. The product was an instant success: by the end of the year, it had generated more than $500 million in sales. Numerous imitators and spinoffs have since been introduced, but the original device continues to dominate the post-mop market, taking up an ever greater share of the supermarket aisle. Its name is the Swiffer. The invention of the Swiffer is a tale of creativity. It's the story of a few engineers coming up with an entirely new cleaning tool while watching someone sweep up some coffee grounds. In that flash of thought, Harry West and his team managed to think differently about something we all do every day. They were able to see the world as it was -- a frustrating place filled with tedious chores -- and then envision the world as it might be if only there were a better mop. That insight changed floor cleaning forever. This book is about how such moments happen. It is about our most important mental talent: the ability to imagine what has never existed. We take this talent for granted, but our lives are defined by it. There is the pop song on the radio and the gadget in your pocket, the art on the wall and the air conditioner in the window. There is the medicine in the bathroom and the chair you are sitting in and this book in your hand. And yet, although we are always surrounded by our creations, there is something profoundly mysterious about the creative process. For instance, why did Harry West come up with the Swiffer concept after watching that woman wipe the floor with the paper towel? After all, he'd done it himself on numerous occasions. "I can't begin to explain why the idea arrived then," he says. "I was too grateful to ask too many questions." The sheer secrecy of creativity -- the difficulty in understanding how it happens, even when it happens to us -- means that we often associate breakthroughs with an external force. In fact, until the Enlightenment, the imagination was entirely synonymous with higher powers: being creative meant channeling the muses, giving voice to the ingenious gods. ( Inspiration , after all, literally means "breathed upon.") Because people couldn't understand creativity, they assumed that their best ideas came from somewhere else. The imagination was outsourced. The deep mysteriousness of creativity also intimidated scientists. It's one thing to study nerve-reaction times or the mechanics of sight. But how does one measure the imagination? The daunting nature of the subject led researchers to mostly neglect it; a recent survey of psychology papers published between 1950 and 2000 revealed that less than 1 percent of them investigated aspects of the creative process. Even the evolution of this human talent was confounding. Most cognitive skills have elaborate biological histories, so their evolution can be traced over time. But not creativity -- the human imagination has no clear precursors. There is no ingenuity module that got enlarged in the human cortex, or even a proto-creative impulse evident in other primates. Monkeys don't paint; chimps don't write poems; and it's the rare animal (like the New Caledonian crow) that exhibits rudimentary signs of problem solving. The birth of creativity, in other words, arrived like any insight: out of nowhere. This doesn't mean, however, that the imagination can't be rigorously studied. Until we understand the set of mental events that give rise to new thoughts, we will never understand what makes us so special. That's why this book begins by returning us to the material source of the imagination: the three pounds of flesh inside the skull. William James described the creative process as a "seething cauldron of ideas, where everything is fizzling and bobbing about in a state of bewildering activity." For the first time, we can see the cauldron itself, that massive network of electrical cells that allow individuals to form new connections between old ideas. We can take snapshots of thoughts in brain scanners and measure the excitement of neurons as they get closer to a solution. The imagination can seem like a magic trick of matter -- new ideas emerging from thin air -- but we are beginning to understand how the trick works.  The first thing this new perspective makes clear is that the standard definition of creativity is completely wrong. Ever since the ancient Greeks, people have assumed that the imagination is separate from other kinds of cognition. But the latest science suggests that this assumption is false. Instead, creativity is a catchall term for a variety of distinct thought processes. (The brain is the ultimate category buster.) Just consider the profusion of creative methods that led to the invention of the Swiffer. First, there was the anthropologist phase, those nine months of careful observation and tedious videotaping. Although this phase didn't generate any new ideas -- the point was to clear the mind of old ones -- it played an essential role in the creative process, allowing the team to better understand the problem. And then, when West watched the woman sweep up the coffee grounds, there was the classic moment of insight, a breakthrough appearing in a fraction of a second. But that epiphany wasn't the end of the process. The engineers and designers still had to spend years fine-tuning the design, perfecting the spray nozzle and the electrostatic wipes. "The concept is only the start of the process," West says. "The hardest work always comes after, when you're trying to make the idea real." The point is that the Swiffer creative process involved multiple forms of creativity. This is where the tools of modern science prove essential, since they allow us to see how these various forms depend on different kinds of brain activity. The imagination is transformed from something metaphysical -- a property of the gods -- into a particular twitch of cortex. Furthermore, this new knowledge is useful: because we finally understand what creativity is, we can begin to construct a taxonomy of it, outlining the conditions under which each particular mental strategy is ideal. Some acts of imagination are best done in a crowded café sipping espresso, and some are helped by a cold beer on the couch. Sometimes we need to let go and improvise on our own, and sometimes we need the wisdom of others. Once we know how creativity works, we can make it work for us. But just because we've begun to decipher the anatomy of the imagination doesn't mean we've unlocked its secret. In fact, this is what makes the subject of creativity so interesting: it requires a description from multiple perspectives. The individual brain, after all, is always situated in a context and a culture, so we need to blend psychology and sociology, merging together the outside world and the inside of the mind. This is why, although Imagine begins with the fluttering of neurons, it will also explore the influence of the surrounding environment on creativity. Why are some Lehrer Imagine first pages cities such centers of innovation? What kind of classroom techniques increase the creativity of children? Is the Internet making us more or less imaginative? We'll look at evidence showing that seemingly irrelevant factors -- such as the color of paint on the wall, or the location of a restroom -- can have a dramatic impact on creative production. Furthermore, because the act of invention is often a collaborative process -- we are inspired by other people -- it's essential that we learn to collaborate in the right way. The first half of this book focuses on individual creativity, while the second half shows what happens when people come together. Thanks to some fascinating new research, such as an analysis of the partnerships behind thousands of Broadway musicals and an investigation into the effectiveness of brainstorming, we can begin to understand why some teams and companies are so much more creative than others. Their success is not an accident. For most of human history, people have believed that the imagination is inherently inscrutable, an impenetrable biological gift. As a result, we cling to a series of false myths about what creativity is and where it comes from. These myths don't just mislead -- they also interfere with the imagination. In addition to looking at elegant experiments and scientific studies, we'll examine creativity as it is experienced in the real world. We'll learn about Bob Dylan's writing method and the drug habits of poets. We'll spend time with a bartender who thinks like a chemist, and an autistic surfer who invented a new surfing move. We'll look at a website that helps solve seemingly impossible problems, and we'll go behind the scenes at Pixar. We'll watch Yo-Yo Ma improvise, and we'll uncover the secrets of consistently innovative companies. The point is to collapse the layers of description separating the nerve cell from the finished symphony, the cortical circuit from the successful product. Creativity shouldn't be seen as something otherworldly. It shouldn't be thought of as a process reserved for artists and inventors and other "creative types." The human mind, after all, has the creative impulse built into its operating system, hard-wired into its most essential programming code. At any given moment, the brain is automatically forming new associations, continually connecting an everyday x to an unexpected y. This book is about how that happens. It is the story of how we imagine. Excerpted from Imagine: How Creativity Works by Jonah Lehrer All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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