In 1879, Thomas Edison stood in his cluttered workshop, staring at the lifeless filament inside a glass bulb. He’d been at it for days, maybe weeks—time had a way of melting together when you were chasing brilliance. His fingers were stained with soot, his eyes bloodshot from too many sleepless nights. He was close, so damn close, but the light just wouldn’t last. Every time, the filament flared up like a promise, only to burn out moments later, leaving him in the dark again.
It’s easy to imagine the frustration, the temptation to toss the whole thing into the trash, to declare it impossible and walk away. But Edison, driven by something more than just a desire to succeed, kept going. He wasn’t just inventing a lightbulb—he was wrestling with the Law of Diminishing Returns.
You see, the first time you strike gold, it’s magic. The thrill of discovery, the rush of creation—it’s pure, unfiltered joy. But what happens when you go back to the same well, again and again, hoping to draw out that same brilliance? It doesn’t take long before the returns start to dwindle, before the effort far outweighs the reward. Every creative, from Edison to the midnight novelist, knows this feeling. It’s the cruel irony of the creative process—the harder you push, the more it pushes back.
Think of the writer who stays up until dawn, fueled by the high of their first bestseller. The first few chapters fly out of them like they’ve been waiting for years to be written. But then, somewhere in the middle, the story starts to drag. The words come slower, the characters lose their spark. What was once effortless now feels like wading through mud. And yet, the writer keeps going, driven by a desperate need to recreate that first high. They push, they grind, they bleed onto the page, but the magic just isn’t there. Diminishing returns, lurking in the shadows, stealing away the joy one word at a time.
Edison knew this better than anyone. He also knew that sometimes, the only way to break free of the cycle is to change the game. When one filament didn’t work, he tried another, and another, and another—over a thousand, in fact. He didn’t cling to what had failed; he pivoted, adapted, found new ways to approach the problem. And eventually, the light stayed on.
For creatives, the lesson is clear: don’t let the diminishing returns drag you down. When the well starts to dry up, don’t keep digging. Instead, move to another spot, find a new angle, experiment with different tools. The magic isn’t gone—it’s just hiding somewhere else, waiting for you to find it. Because the real secret isn’t about working harder; it’s about knowing when to change direction before the returns diminish you.