I made a zine and learned just how fragile I really am
All I wanted to do was make a zine. Why did it have to be so hard?
Want to know something funny? About one year ago, I suddenly was itching to make a zine. I wanted to write about old bands, subcultures, and my time in the punk and goth scenes. And you know what I did with that desire? I made a Substack…instead of just…making a zine.
This may sound silly to the members of the bustling zine community here on Substack, but at the time I was like does anyone still even read zines? I felt like if I made a zine the copies would just sit in piles in my home, unread. I figured the only way to scratch my zine itch and have people actually read my stuff was to make a zine-ISH thing like a Substack. Is Substack at all like a zine? Not exactly, but it made sense at the time.
The thing is, I’m not new to zines. In my teens and 20s, zines were pretty much life. I put together my first zine at 18—collaborating with artists, bands, and internet friends from across the country to put together a zine and an accompanying music comp called Eyeliner Diner1. After my first foray into the world of zines, I became obsessed. Beyond just making zines, I wanted to own all the zines, about all the topics, and spread my love of them as far as it could go.
I went to indie bookstores, comic cons, anarchist book shops, zine fests, and punk shows, collecting every zine I could find. I aspired to one day create an expansive zine library for others to enjoy. My parents’ attic is still filled with boxes and boxes of treasured zines I’d accumulated from the early 2000s until the late 2010s. Unfortunately, my zine collecting days ended somewhat abruptly in the late 2010s—life got in the way and other interests took priority. And just like that2, I forgot about zines. That is, until recently, when zines came calling my name once again.
At first, I made my zine-ISH Substack—this Substack here. And while this newsletter gives me a chance to wax poetic about my music scene days (among other things), it’s still not a zine—that was immediately apparent. The moment I published my first post I was like “this is nice but it’s not exactly what I’m trying to achieve.” And so, the deep desire to create a zine remained.
So what was stopping me from making what I actually wanted to make? If I’m being honest with myself, it had a lot less to do with my concern about readership (after all, it’s not like a billion people follow my Substack) and a lot more to do with the fact that making a zine made me feel, well…kind of dumb.
What the hell am I talking about? Allow me to explain. You see, I fancy myself this free-spirited, open-minded creative that doesn’t allow society or age to dictate what I do, but this whole zine thing made me realize that that’s actually pretty far from the truth. As soon as I started thinking “ooh, let’s make a zine” all of these weird, gross thoughts began to fill my head.
One of my thoughts was “that’s not a good use of your time.”
You see, I have parents that are always asking me what I’m working on, and foolishly, I always tell them. I say “foolishly” because, by this age (39), you’d think I’d have finally learned my lesson. My parents, forever baffled by my choice to go a more creative route in life, are always fixated on money and whether or not my creative efforts are “worth it” financially.
For example, when I recently spent an afternoon selling some of my art at an event, my mother thought it was appropriate to point out that the few hundred dollars I made weren’t really “worth it” when you take into account all I’d spent on travel and materials. Nevermind the fact that I got my name out there or that it was literally my second event ever—just the fact that I didn’t make an immediate profit made the endeavor a waste of time in my mother’s eyes. It’s situations like that that run through my head whenever I get the idea to do something just for fun or simply to get my work out there.
Another one of my thoughts was “the things you care about are stupid and no one cares.”
Since I already launched this Substack, I dreamt up a new idea for a zine—I wanted to make a zine about Halloween. I wanted to make a nostalgia-laden Halloween zine full of quizzes and mad libs and recipes and listicles. I wanted it to be silly, and fun, and recapture all the child-like magic of Halloween but for grown up spooky kids. And while I personally thought it was a good idea, I was like “does anyone else?”
Sometimes I get really in my head and start comparing myself to other people my age. I look at people writing intellectual think pieces or hard-hitting journalism. I know people who write deep personal essays and clever industry hacks. Hell, my husband is an interventional cardiologist and he spends half his days writing about medical topics I don’t even understand. But the thing is, that’s not me and it never will do. I don’t like sharing hot takes or going dark—I mostly like writing light, fun things. Sometimes silly things. And while most of the time I’m proud of who I am, other times I wonder if the things I focus on make me childish, or less of a legitimate writer than others in my orbit.
Somehow, despite all the negativity spiraling in my mind, I finally gave in and started tinkering with my zine. However, it was no easy feat, seeing as my mind did its best to sabotage me the whole way through. When some friends asked me what I was working on, I would downplay it and say something like “Just some stupid zine, I don’t know if I’ll even finish it.” And when I’d hit a snag with the design (InDesign will be the death of me) I’d curse myself for all the time I’d wasted when I should have been doing something more “productive” like writing a new Substack post or submitting a short story to a prestigious lit magazine.
Thankfully, I have some of the best friends in the world, and one of my dear friends could sense my self sabotage. Every week he’d text me “how’s the zine coming along" and each time I’d respond with something negative he’d say “you will finish it, I know it,” so matter of fact. Really, that friend’s complete and utter faith in me is probably the only reason why I was able to complete issue #1 of Our Undead Friends, but I sure am glad I did. Finishing this zine felt like one giant victory against my cruel, self-sabotaging mind.
Plus, I’m pretty damn proud of it. Turns out plenty of people liked my silly creation and sometime in the coming months I’ll begin working on issue #2.
I know my tale might seem sort of trivial in the grand scheme of things, but I felt like I needed to share it, in case there’s anyone out there that might relate. In today’s hustle culture, I feel like many of us don’t give ourselves permission to work on things simply because we want to or because they’re fun—we feel like there always needs to be some endgame or some significant financial gain to make it “worth it.” I also know that comparing yourself to others is always a losing battle, so I’m going to do my best to resist that temptation.
Whatever it is you’re working on, whether it’s a Substack account that covers deeply serious topics and earns you hundreds of dollars a month or a funny zine that you give out for $1 a pop and make no profit on—I hope you give yourself permission to create with confidence. And the next time your mind tries to tell you that your creative project is “dumb” or just not “worth it,” tell it to shut the fuck up.
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Anyone catch that Blaster the Rocketman reference?
Do you also find it difficult to utter these words without thinking of the horrendous SATC reboot? No? Just me?
This post swooped in like divine intervention. I need to hear this at this very moment. A million thank yous. ♥️
Whaaaat?! I've been meaning to read your Substack for a very long time and the first time I do I come across "Eyliner Diner"? Rad! And that's your email for the zine as well? So cool. Makes me happy to see that lil phrase has an afterlife of its own. I agree wholeheartedly with your perspective here, making for making rather than the "hustle". I LOVE the idea of a Substack as a zine. I don't yet know what that could mean, but it's so appealing. I often refer to mine as collage or bricolage and now that potentially makes sense as zine-like. Anyway, keep doing what you love. We need the light and bright and fun as much as the dark, turgid shit that folks like me tend to write. 🤣 (Though I do consider mine to have plenty of humor and to be an honest and dogged search for light.)