Zines as Craft, Philosophy, Community
Notes on Phoenix Zine Fest 2024
I’ve read and made zines since 2015 when my friend Charissa opened Wasted Ink Zine Distro. A year or two earlier, Charissa invited me to contribute to issue one of their new collaborative zine Fem Static (find more recent issues here). I was living far from home, recently married and caring for my first child full time. I’d rebranded quitting my terrible job at a radio station after having my son as “going freelance” and I was happy and terrified. The invitation to write about something meaningful, feminism, was a lifeline and a spark.
When Michael, Henry, and I moved back to Arizona in January 2017, the first event I attended at Wasted Ink was a poetry reading on the night of Trump’s inauguration. People read their poems from a makeshift voting booth to a packed room. I hovered in the back, trying to reconcile my new reality: Back home, but not the same as I left — and neither was the United States. I hugged Charissa on my way out. The dread and tenacity of a roomful of poets gave me more hope than I’d had in a while.
The feeling of that room remains with me. I find it again and again at different zine events and, especially, at Phoenix Zine Fest. Started in 2016, PZF has grown to a two-day fest that welcomes hundreds of zinesters and zine-curious folks. I’ve volunteered in 2017 and 2022 and tabled in 2019 and 2024 and it’s always a high point of the year.
I tabled this year with a handful of new zines — Desert Pookas, zine versions of this newsletter, and an updated version of a zine about collaboration. My son Henry made zines, too, and watching him talk with friends and strangers about his work was incredibly fun. The work it took to show up with a table full of zines, stickers, and bookmarks was a lot. I’m really in awe of the zinesters who’ve been doing it longer, perfecting the craft of showing up imperfectly. Walking around, I bought zines and looked at table set-ups, clever packaging, and painted signs. The urge to do it again, do it better, is strong.
Desert Pookas was a project that tested my skills and stamina, and deepened my interest in the DIY/Do It Together approach. Combining writing, illustrating, and book-binding challenged me at every step. It was a real moment of minimizing the gap between who I want to be and who I am, how I want to work and how I work. If I want to work collaboratively, if I want to be more resourceful, I have to show up and do it. Calling the process ‘rewarding’ is too gentle a word. Finishing Desert Pookas brought about shifts and realizations in how I live and work that I’ll be reconciling with and unpacking for some time.
Community is something that’s been getting extra air time since the election, for good reason. And some of the conversation around it makes me clench my teeth and hope no one is watching my face. Articles or posts about “Finding and Building Community” sometimes bother me because they are so reactionary to the election. The kind of community I hope I’m building and want to have isn’t something to opt into or out of based on who is president. Community is necessary at all times, in all weather. Your local (and the online) zine community was there before November 6, 2024, and before 2016, and will remain even when the aftershocks of the election wane and the idea of community is less trendy. I’ve learned that even what feels like a little bit of community building (in between jobs and care work and exhaustion and and and) can keep the flame bright.
What have you discovered while building community (online or IRL)? Any surprises? And what’s your best piece of advice for folks feeling lonely and wanting to connect?
The Good Enough Weekly comes out on Fridays, alternating essays and shorter updates. I also take on freelance editing and writing projects. Reach out if you’re looking for help in those departments — I’ve worked on everything from zines to textbooks.
I love zines! I won't torture you with all my zine feels from decades past. I think a great way for someone feeling lonely and needing to connect with some people is to volunteer somewhere near their home or work and don't overthink it. When we feel lonely, it usually means we feel isolated, and down, it's so easy to not do something because it doesn't seem like the perfect solution. There is no perfect solution.
My biggest stride in building community this year has been to show up—to events, through specific offers of help, and to 1:1 hangouts with new people. There have been a couple times when I’ve not been able to engage or I’ve had to leave due to mental health issues and overstimulation, but overall I’ve been able to make connections, feel supported, create and write, and give love very successfully. It’s been an ongoing practice and I’ve found that I heal better, grieve better, and release a desire for perfection more easily when I’m in community. Thank you for being so good at showing up. ❤️