A ZINE IS SIMPLY a self-published work done entirely of personal passion and usually without any commercial support whatsoever. Zine topics range everything you can think of... from music to travel to cooking to stories to personal life to art to addiction to mental health to just about any geeky hobby. There were over five-thousand zines available in the mid-90's, and after a few years of slimming numbers, the zine culture is bursting forth again.
Those years of slimming were the same years that we all got enamored with HTML and the instant, long-distance, and super-cheap access the Internet provided for the same kind of content as we were publishing in zines. After diving into that technology and learning what it is best at, we once again find paper to be a comfortable and favorite reading experience. Not only no batteries, no wireless access accounts needed, no worries of bending/breaking/scratching/losing our palmtop or laptop computer, but paper has texture, smell, imperfections, things glued to it, stains, and more that just stores history, intent, and mood better than any panel of glowing bits.
So we come away with yet more distinctions around what the net is great for (and we *love* the net, speaking for small publishers, writers, and geeks everywhere) and what paper is great for. And now we remember why we love paper, too.
THIS LAST WEEKEND was the Annual Portland Zine Symposium, which is the largest in the country. The turnout was fantastic, the people marvelous, the selection of zines and exploration overwhelming. In the workshops, long-time zine publishers talked about their experiences, the people they've met, the years of deep and caring letters they written to each other, and the sense of deep community they've developed.
I was intrigued by the way these people had discovered a community of each other under the surface. I was touched by the way they took a hold of that community and cared for it, fostered it, and made it a primary involvement in their lives. It seemed that out of desparation they would cast out their zine, their thoughts, opinions, dreams, and feelings to anyone that would connect with them. And people did connect with them. Deeply.
The correspondance that formed between zinesters hundreds or thousands of miles away was formative to their young lives. It influenced the next issues of their zine, and several groups connected all together (the grrrrls, for one) to share support and tactics for making it through the world as the people they were. It was deep and meaningful, and a great community.
And it is what many people are missing and desiring today. Everyone wants those kinds of friends and deep connections; those kinds of memories and exploration and support. Why is it so hard to find in our society today? There are many reasons, none of which can't be overcome with a little determination, understanding, and know-how.
What each zinester did was take a risk and express their deepest selves, first. They put themselves out there in print. A vulnerable position. Every zinester has gotten at least one 'hate' letter from someone who disagrees with something they wrote, or despises the treatment of a topic, or whatever.
But the rewards far outweighed the costs. This demonstrates a prime ingredient and catlyst of community and deep relationships: take a risk put yourself out there. Speak your thoughts and feelings deeply to open conversations and connect with people. We're never going to get there just talking about the weather, folks!
Speaking deeply means speaking in an appropriate way about things that are meaningful to people. Judgements and opinions will divide people, always creating the platform of the opposite and inviting argument and discussion. That's fine for many things, but it isn't the path to a deep, connective conversation.
What is meaningful to all people is our experience, our emotions, our trials and successes, our stories. To speak of these things in the common language of us all is connective. We all have experienced loneliness, joy, depression, exhileration, fear, love, weakness, and strength. Where are those things in your life right now? What are your stories around those things?
The art of conversation is an extemporaneous dance of politely exploring the topics and depth that are appropriate and meaningful for all parties involved. What's too much, what's not enough? Where's the beef? For it can be just as impolite to waste a lot of someone's time talking about nothing but the weather as it is to jump into conversation with some horriable statement of personal hygene problems while someone is trying to eat.
To experience and explore some examples - and to judge for yourself what's too much and what's not enough - check out some of these zines for yourself.
Then talk to someone about them!
The Constant Rider
Stories from the Public Transportation Front
by Kate Lopresti
Fuzzy Lunch Box
Sisters Deb and Laura tell it like it is.
309 Cedar St. #34, Santa Cruz, CA 95060
CAMP MANIA! and
A Bicycle Built for One (two different zines)
by Caitlin, spitshine_nickles {at} hotmail [dot] com
Invisible Radios: remixes, statistics, jokes, etc.
by Kevin Sampsell
Future Tense Books, PO Box 42416, Portland OR 97242
futuret {at} teleport [dot] com
LAZYBONES (fomerly known as KIMOSABE)
by Marc Parker
2000 NE 42 Ave #221, Portland, OR 97213
The DVORAK Zine
Changing the World One Keyboard at a Time!
by Alec, Frunch, and GCB
DVzine {at} gmail [dot] com
A Zine Review Zine:
Best Zine Ever!
Edited by Greg Beans and assembled at the Independent Published Resource Center
which has a HUGE library of zines at their facility in downtown Portland, by the way.
Find Zines around Portland (and online) at:
Reading Frenzy
921 SW Oak St., Portland, OR
503-274-1449
Microcosm Publishing
311 N. Ivy St., basement, Portland, OR
503.249.3826
Many thanks to the hip Multnomah County Library reference librarians Emily-Jane Dawson and Laural Winter for the cool mini-zine 'PDX Zines: Where to Find Zines in Portland," from which these sources were quoted (and there are more, so get down to the library and find out more!)
Friday, August 12, 2005
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