MEGA-Zines

It’s amazing what you can make from a sheet of paper, a pen and a pair of scissors. Throw in some old magazines, washi tape and some glue, and you have yourself a party.

Zines, pronounced ZEENS, but spelled zines as in magazine

Zines are home-made, DIY, self-published little booklets. They can be stapled or made from one sheet of paper, folded in such a way as to make six pages plus front and back covers. If you’re thrifty, you could make a 2 in 1 version by writing/printing on both sides of the paper, so you get to see one of the other zine depending on how you fold it.

They can be on any topic you like – art, politics, short stories, identity, what I did last summer, food, my so-called life, mental health, animals, the state of the nation – absolutely anything. They were pretty popular when I was a teenager back in the late 80s. I remember reading some feminist Riot Grrrl ones and a few band/gig review ones. Back then, there was no internet, so spreading the word to potential future members of your tribe was much more difficult than it is now.

I’m rubbish at drawing, which I why my zines are mostly made up of words cut from magazines. I’ve hit my stash of washi tape hard. I really enjoy the process of getting into the flow of creating. This is a slow craft. Old school analogue, even, yet so easily shared with others.

I’ve found this video on YouTube which shows how to make one. Honestly, they are so simple. No verbal instructions are necessary. Give it a go! Fun for all ages.

My newer zines are made from A3 paper. Once the zine is made, I shrink it on my home copier at 71% to make it A4-sized. Fortunately, I only have a black and white scanner/photocopier/printer combo, because a colour one could become quite and expensive habit! I must admit that I have made a few copies of each one, just in case I get invited to a zine fair at some point in the future (where I could sell or trade them) way off when we all start doing social things again.

This is one I made earlier, in its glorious natural state.

Regular readers may remember that I recently made a multi-page short story/poetry zine with a printed cover for a socially-distanced library event. I may make some more. They’re a whole lot easier and more fun to make than e-books. If/when I do any performance poetry/spoken work with an IRL audience (again at some hopeful time in the future, when life feels safer again) I will create a little zine to read my poem from while I’m onstage.

I hope you enjoyed a little peek into my world of what I’ve been up to lately!

Extra points for anyone who knows which magazines I’ve hacked up to obtain the cut-out words!

In the spirit of the culture of zines, below are a few that I’ve shared with other organisations. They are in convenient video format on YouTube.


I sent a few of my zines to Leicester Zine Library and they were kind enough to create a lovely Instagram post about them

109. Answers on a Postcard

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Photo by Wherda Arsianto on Unsplash

I went to a small college in a small town, in the early 90s, with about 500 other students. Education was free then, I was given a modest grant to live on, and cheap basic, accommodation. My weekly food bill was more than my room. Everyone was there to learn the modern Business Studies methods of the day, conveniently with our tutors’ own published books as set texts. We had optimistically enrolled on a handful of randomly specialist, semi-practical courses, to find out about the future of electronic mail and networks of personal computers that were not yet part of our working environment. However, less than a decade later, that knowledge was obsolete.

There were 24 six inch wire cubes (aka pigeonholes) fitted to the wall outside of the Student Union office. A ritual daily gathering for the latest gossip coinciding with regulation mid-morning coffee break. The arrival of the mail was a big deal, so we’d hang around for our fix of letters from home, whilst desperately trying to not look overeager. It was clearly an inefficient method of distribution by Surname, as some of the cubes, (H, S, B) could barely hold a day’s delivery, yet others, (U or Q) were nearly always empty. If we wanted to leave a message for a tutor, we’d pop a note into their personal wooden pigeonhole in the Secretary’s office.

This was pre-internet, pre-mobile phone times. I’d ring home once, possibly twice a fortnight from one of the payphones dotted around campus, using a prepaid phone card. I was glad my room wasn’t located near to the phone in my halls of residence. The perk of having the convenience of a phone so close by, would quickly dissolve, as most of the calls were for other people. You were damned if you took a message, as whatever you did next was bound to be wrong. Do you leave the message on the pinboard next to the phone, push a note under their door (if you knew where they lived) or hold onto it until you found them? Were you supposed to go looking for them? If you saw their friend first, do you tell them what the caller said? Living closest to the phone also meant that no-one else would ever answer it, including during the night. You were fair game to be scolded if someone’s boyfriend had called and they’d missed them, because you couldn’t be “bothered to get out of bed” at midnight to answer the phone.

Whenever an essay or assignment was set, I’d go straight to the library after class, to check out the recommended research books, and get first reserve on the others that had to be ordered in from other libraries. On the first Monday of every month, new magazines went on display, so I’d spend many a glorious afternoon reading the latest issues for free. With hindsight, it would have been better with a grande latte and a granola bar on the table, but we were years away from food and drink coexisting in a public space with books. We didn’t know we had to carry our own water with us at all times back then, and only our grannies had a thermos. Staying hydrated was reserved for hot days or hangovers.

Information about the outside world arrived in the form of giant newspapers attached to long, wooden rods. These were apparently required to deter theft of the biblepaper-thin sheets. I figured that if something important happened, I was bound to find out eventually (people would be talking about it and I would hear or they would tell me!). Hence, my knowledge of history from that period is sparse. We felt no responsibility (or addiction) to stay up-to-date with current affairs.

Music magazines, flyers on record shop counters, photocopied fanzines made by dedicated sixth-formers, and postcards from that place in Leamington Spa, provided all we ever needed to know about what was happening in our own music bubble.

We weren’t missing out if it hadn’t yet been invented.

In a decade from now, will facial recognition, spyware, satellite surveillance, contactless payments, automatic numberplate recognition technology and body microchip nano implants be the norm? Will it even be possible to go off-grid? Will it seem an incredible waste to cut down trees for paper, when they’re needed for much more important things like clean air?

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Photo by Hannes Wolf on Unsplash