In Defense of Self-Publishing: Zines and Blogs, Part Two

Part 1 of Alissa Neilsen's essay can be read here.

Continued...While there are advantages and disadvantages with both print and digital media, what is most interesting, to me anyway, is how they cross-pollinate and coexist within the realm of self-publishing. Though I appreciate the publishing industry, and while I recognize the quality and quantity problems with blogs and zines, I am an advocate for self-publication because I’ve seen the powerful writing that surfaces by individuals who have full freedom to create. Just as it is a necessity for artists to hone their craft within the confines of structure, so too is it essential for artists to go through phases of rebellion, not just in their early years, but along the way. Many commercially published writers self-publish work when they're experimenting or wanting to try something new, and then they pass it along, see how it's received.


What is most widely criticized of zines and blogs is their lack of consistency and, overall, the range of quality within the work. I admit, there is an over-abundance of horrible, poorly written, aesthetically unpleasing zines and blogs out there. However, there is also controlled, crafted, fluid writing as well as stunning design in many zines (Boneshaker: A Bicycling Almanac, Nancy’s Magazine, Farm Pulp) and blogs (Black Perspective, Maud Newton, Brittle Paper) and, whether it’s for social, political, personal or economic reasons, these would never otherwise exist in this world if it weren’t for self-publishing. I’ll be honest, reading blogs and zines gives me great pleasure not despite, but because of the range of quality. I liken it to going to a rummage sale, record shopping, or attending an open mic—sure there’s going to be a lot of crap, a lot that you might not connect with, but the treasures you find are priceless and not something that you’ll ever come across otherwise.

Often what’s most interesting to me about blogs and zines is the historical significance of the personal narrative. I find myself more interested in the narrative voice the blogger has created or how a certain zine serves as a relic of the time. Go into any zine library and you’ll be able to get an insiders view: see the rise of punk in England from 1975-1977 (Sniffin’ Glue), understand commercial fishing from the worker’s point-of-view (Xtra Tuf), or learn how to make a living as an organ donor (Guinea Pig Zero), the list goes on and on.

Though I adore my computer, and would be at a loss without the Internet, I still can’t quite describe the swelling joy of holding a broadside poem, those deeply embedded words, the heavy paper in my hand. It’s akin to a bicycle ride in the country, listening to Django Reinhardt on vinyl, a home-baked rhubarb cobbler. As a guest in a Seattle public high school, I teach students how to make their own eight-page books. Outside, while talking with the teacher, we notice Chelsea and Shayna exchange their poetry zines, each reading silently as people bang their lockers, drag their skateboards, and escape through little buds of sound planted in their ears.

Because I’ve read both poems, I know that Chelsea is learning what it’s like to be the daughter of a single mother struggling with breast cancer, and Shayna is reading “WOW,” a playful and hilarious rant about boys who are obsessed with World of Warcraft. Their teacher tells me that Shayna has had problems speaking up in class, and Chelsea is two days late on her essay assignment (“writing is not one of her strengths,” she says), and we talk about whether those are problems or just a process in their development of voice within academia. As Shayna walks away, I see her slip Chelsea’s book into her purse, into a tiny cell-phone-sized pocket, and this simple gesture moves me. We are present—caught in a moment of free creative exchange, beautiful because it is spontaneous, personal, and so very rare.