Creativity in research is much in demand and always lauded. Every year, the top creative universities are ranked, and at all career stages, from student to experienced professor, academics want toâand are expected toâbe creative. Most researchers have more or less explicit creative practices , but many do not know exactly how to cultivate creativity , let alone how to teach it. Based on a view of creativity as a socio-cultural act (GlÄveanu 2014, 2015), with this book we wish to give space to fresh voices in the discussion of researcher creativity . The book introduces the idea that creativity in research is not a method or a set of techniques we apply to our work . Manuals on creativity and innovation often report the creative processes in terms of stages (Wegener 2016) or as the ability to perform divergent thinking (GlÄveanu et al. 2016). A creative research practice springs from a curious, sensitive and playful life as a human being. Plans are fine. However, if we are preoccupied with how things were supposed to play out, we may not see and take in the inspirational sources right in front of us (Meier and Wegener 2017). We may think that we need to clean up the mess, get a grip and get back on track before we can proceed with the (tidy) research . We may even think that other researchers are much more successful in this respect. They are not.
Recipes for creativity rarely take into account the learning potential in other peopleâs actual practices , messy and unfinished as they may be (Tanggaard and Wegener 2016). Accordingly, this is not a recipe book but a book of stories . The book offers a collection of personal, theorised essays about the unplanned, accidental and even obstructive events that are often erased from traditional representations of research methods . Reading over âMethodâ sections, it seems that epistemological struggle is something to be solved, with only the outcome worth reporting. To follow the traditional format for presenting method and analysis , scholars may feel they have to create a certain type of narrative about the research process in which some things are included and others left out. A tidy, edited account feels safer because the story of what âreallyâ happened may seem too intuitive, messy or serendipitous and thus at risk of being discarded as unscientific or irrelevant, or too personal. However, as Weick (1995) famously suggests, sense-making occurs retrospectively and is tied to action :
How can I know what I think until I see what I say?
This often-cited quote is fascinating because it reverses some taken-for-granted premises for scientific work . If we need to see what we say in order to know what we think, then we must act first and then understand. We must do things and then find out what we have been doingâbecause the sense we make of what we did (or of what happened) depends on how we word it. Yet, these utterances will rarely be final, conclusive and exhaustive. As researchers (and as human beings), we are in a continual process of voicing in order to see our thoughts and find out more about our research topic (and about life ). When ...
