How Bizzy stopped chasing faraway writing goals that made her sad

By doubling down on local collabs and creative community

Hey there,

And welcome back to BIZZY IN YOUR BOX, the email newsletter all about Bizzy Coy: humor writer, freelance copywriter, dog-owner, couch-napper. (And by couch-napper I mean one who naps on a couch, not one who kidnaps couches.)

Friends old and new, will you indulge me? I have a long rant ahead.

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I started an experiment this year.

For much of my creative career, I have chased goals that are far, far away from me.

In college, I wanted to be a Broadway director!

After college, I wanted to be a Hollywood screenwriter or a world-famous standup comedian!

More recently, I wanted to be a best-selling novelist!

Always, I have longed for the approval of faraway gatekeepers, the adoration of faraway audiences and the thumbs-up of some mysterious faraway power who sees into my deepest soul and declares that I am good.

(As the Dr. Seuss book says: “Oh, the validation you’ll crave!”)

Let’s look at my most recent example. I finished writing a novel in 2016 and tried my darnedest to sell it. I felt like I was doing all the things the internet says you’re supposed to do when writing a novel and trying to get an agent and a publisher.

It didn’t matter. Literary agents were not interested in my book. And I had a feeling they were right. Something about it just wasn’t working.

I finished a totally new novel in 2023, and the same thing happened. Nobody wanted my book—and soon, I didn’t want my book anymore, either.

I was frustrated as heck. And sad, too. What was I doing wrong?

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Around the end of 2023, I sat myself down for some real talk.

I said: Bizzy. Sweet, sweet Bizzy. What you’re doing isn’t working. You are writing these books but they are not turning out the way you want. You are frustrated and confused. This is not sustainable, creatively or emotionally. Are you going to keep doing this over and over?

Part of me said, yes. Just keep at it. This is how publishing works, right? You write seven novels and then the eighth one gets really good and suddenly you’re an overnight success. Isn’t that what all the advice-givers say?

Another part of me said, that might be true for some. But I think you’re approaching this totally backward and tangling yourself in knots in the process. Honestly, it’s kind of depressing.

I had to admit some hard truths to myself:

What if the success I’m aiming for is too far away?

What if what I am trying to achieve is not actually a fit for my writing skills, experience and marketability?

What if in trying to write a “publishable” novel, I’m actually writing something that nobody wants?

What if these goals I’m setting for myself are not even the right goals?

I sat with this for a while. I asked myself some more questions, and explored some possibilities:

Maybe success, for me, is not somewhere out there behind the distant walls of the mythically powerful print media industry.

Maybe success, for me, has nothing to do with being deemed “good” by the masses.

Maybe success is closer than I think.

Maybe it’s right in my backyard.

Maybe it starts with small steps, not big leaps.

This felt good. This felt like a mindset shift I could begin to play with.

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I decided to see what would happen if I stopped chasing those faraway dreams.

No more harping on writing a Big Book and getting a Big Publisher and winning Global Acclaim.

Instead, I got back to basics. I declared to myself that I would:

1. Work on writing projects that pleased ME and fit my skill set and interests, regardless of their publishability.

2. Nourish my relationship with LOCAL readers and writers by participating in more local literary events.

3. Open myself up to collaborating with more LOCAL people, writers, artists, editors and organizations.

4. Double down on the creative practice available to me right here, right now—not “somewhere, someday.”

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I started a list called 2024 COMMUNITY & COLLABORATION.

I kept track of every time I participated in my local creative community or collaborated with someone local. If I went to an art gallery opening or a film screening or a poetry reading, I’d add it to the list.

Adding things to the list became my goal. Not getting published, not fame and fortune, not writing the Great American Novel.

My first surprise: I found myself saying yes to a project with a local artist, Lia Strasser. This is something I would have said no to in the past, for reasons of ego and fear and anxiety and hyper-focus on “MY BOOK.”

It was a true challenge for me to step outside my comfort zone and navigate working with Lia. I was in my head a lot! It was scary and uncomfortable! I didn’t get to make all the decisions by myself! Oh nooo!

Our efforts were rewarded with the publication of two cartoons in The New Yorker. Lia did the art, I did the captions.

Making cartoons was not a thing I had ever thought to do. But it was amazing to watch it happen. A published cartoon was never the end goal. It was the positive byproduct of a much better end goal, of prioritizing COMMUNITY & COLLABORATION.

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My list started filling up with good things:

• I read one of my pieces on the local radio station

• I did a whole bunch of Yarnslingers storytelling events

• I performed at a comedy fundraiser for the chamber of commerce

• I printed a zine and gave it away to friends

And I joined a writers’ group! Which might not sound impressive, but it is something I have avoided for all forty years of my life.

I was thrilled by the warmth and insight the group provided, and I kicked myself for not joining earlier.

A group was the exact thing I needed to improve my skills, which are good but not great—certainly not great enough to land a fancy book deal, as I had learned from my earlier attempts.

But a book wasn’t even on my mind when I attended the group. The freedom of NOT caring about “publishing” made it possible for me to be present and absorb what others had to say.

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Doing all of this inspired me to invest even more time in local stuff.

I did more volunteer hours this year than I ever have in the past.

I took more walks on my favorite nearby trails.

I took more scenic drives that made me happy.

Local, local, local was my ongoing mantra.

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Here’s the part that really shocked me:

Despite an INCREASE in my overall activity this year, I’ve felt LESS drained than ever.

I think it’s because instead of pouring myself into projects with faraway potential—essentially pouring my energy into the abyss—I’ve poured myself into projects right in front of me, places that matter to me, and people I care about.

Those things have poured back into me, tenfold. I feel energized, connected, grounded, focused. Happy.

Another paradox:

Despite being BUSIER than ever, my writing practice has been STEADIER than ever.

I wake up in the morning, sit down at my computer, and just write.

I don’t have big scary goals looming over me. No thunderclouds of hope and doom. It’s just me and the laptop.

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I did some of the best writing I’ve ever done.

I wrote a whole collection of short stories this year. I had fun doing it and I learned a lot. In the past I would have convinced myself that short stories aren’t “marketable” and are therefore a waste of time—even though that’s what I really wanted to work on.

(And yes, I’ve submitted some of my new stories to faraway publications with dreams of being chosen. I can’t help myself.)

But as those rejection emails trickle in from editors I’ve never met, it doesn’t bother me as much. Because I’m more interested in publishing right where I live, in the middle of nowhere in the rural Upper Delaware River Valley.

I recently placed stories in two local literary journals whose quality and creativity rival any big-city publication. I feel excited for people I actually know to pick up these magazines at our neighborhood bookstores and give them a read.

And I’m working on self-publishing a collection of short humor pieces I’ve written for various outlets over the years. I never would have indulged the thought of self-publishing something before. There was no gatekeeper to win the approval of! It seemed too easy!

But I discovered there are opportunities all around me. More than I ever realized.

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I could not have anticipated, in 2023, the powerful reverberations this mindset shift would have on my life in 2024.

Do I still want to publish a big fancy book?

Yes. Of course.

But I’m no longer consumed with the faraway fantasy. I’d rather be grounded in the here and now.

Collabing all year long!

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The end???!!!

Speaking of local…

It’s time to revisit this humor piece I wrote for McSweeney’s in 2017, which was heavily inspired by the place I call home.

Surely Nothing Can Go Wrong on this Leaf-Peeping Date

Planning a romantic first date this fall? A leaf-peeping day trip gets you out of the city and into the fresh air. Follow this easy upstate New York itinerary to catch the autumn colors while they’re as vibrant as your blossoming love.

9 A.M.

Take the George Washington Bridge to the brilliant vistas of the Palisades Parkway. As you marvel at the vivid crimson, fiery orange and deep ochre, suddenly realize you didn’t tell anyone who you were meeting and where you were going. You basically got in a car with a total stranger. You don’t even know how many siblings he has. All you know is that he enjoys some of the same movies as you. He doesn’t look like a murderer, does he? Would a murderer wear a seasonally appropriate flannel shirt and love The Silence of the Lambs?

10 A.M.

Time for a nature hike! Stop at the Bear Mountain State Park Visitor Center and find a friendly park ranger named Ginny. She can provide you a map and recommend a forest trail with majestic views of native flora.

As you set off down the path, discover that you and your date have already run out of things to talk about.

Instead of enjoying the scenery in congenial silence, jump right to the questions it’s too soon to ask. What’s his most embarrassing erotic fantasy? Is it fair to have kids if they’ll be genetically predisposed to the same debilitating anxiety you suffer every day? Why won’t he hold your hand?

12 P.M.

After your hike, head toward the Upper Delaware Scenic Byway, a winding route that positively glows with rich, prismatic splendor. Pause at the Hawk’s Nest overlook and take note of the crisp yellow against the blue sky, the contrast as stark as the differences quickly emerging between you and your date.

Why does this always happen to you? Is it because you plan overly elaborate first meetings when a simple coffee or cocktail would suffice? Or is it because you keep saying “Don’t murder me!” in a joking tone of voice? Or is it because you ate a maple leaf?

1 P.M.

Let the kaleidoscopic beauty of the Catskills scenery wash over you, like the waves of regret you feel because you committed to spending an entire day stuck in a car with a guy who has no siblings and won’t open up about his sexual appetites no matter how frequently you ask, which is very frequently.

Stop for lunch at old-fashioned farmstands, apple cider mills and cute country cafes that are all closed. You should have known better than to go upstate on a Sunday. Luckily, there’s a local harvest festival in full swing nearby. Pick a pumpkin, take a hayride, and buy a basket of apples to throw away when you get home.

You’re actually starting to have fun traipsing around the corn maze when you turn the corner and spot your date talking to a park ranger. Wait. Is that Ginny?

3 P.M.

Get back on the scenic byway and pretend not to care that Ginny is in the front seat of the car and you are now in the back seat.

Your date peers at you in the rearview mirror and suggests that your relationship has grown stale since it began at nine o’clock this morning, and perhaps it’s time to open things up. Also, he didn’t mention it earlier, but he is positively powerless to resist Ginny’s park ranger uniform due to his fetish for khaki.

4 P.M.

As you stand in a ditch and watch them drive away, be sure not to miss the breathtaking panoramic view of the Delaware River that will make you gasp: “How can the world be so beautiful and yet so cruel?”

4:30 PM

Eat another leaf.

5 P.M.

You must complete your itinerary on foot. Walk on back roads past red barns, sleepy villages and quaint Main Streets that will make you forget all about the fact that your last sixteen dates ended with you screaming in language as colorful as the trees.

Ankles blistered, throat parched, you stumble into the charming hamlet of Narrowsburg and lower yourself into a pile of dead leaves. Why is it so hard to find love? Why does Ginny have all the luck? How long will you have to lie here motionless before someone notices? Why does it get dark so early now? And why is everything wet? Did a dog pee here?

Wait, no, that’s you, peeing yourself. This is the kind of all-encompassing warmth your date could never give you, unless he was into this sort of thing, which is a much more respectable proclivity than khaki. Jesus. Khaki.

Like this year’s foliage, another relationship has peaked too soon.

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Thanks for reading this extra-long edition. And thanks to those of you who subscribe to BIZZY IN YOUR BOX! I truly appreciate you.

Until next time,

xoxo

Bizzy