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Short Fiction Zines Q&A
Someone recently invited me to do an email interview about my history with zines. This was for a project that most likely won't extend beyond the graduate class they're taking, so I thought it would be okay to share my answers to their questions here. I'm not sure if this is of interest to anyone besides me, but it's a nice little snapshot of a small part of my creative life.
How many zines have you made?
Twelve! Five short fiction zines, five minicomic zines, one horror-themed haiku anthology, and one collaborative Legend of Zelda haiku anthology.
Did you sell every zine you ever made? Specifically, at least one copy of any zines you produced?
Yes. All of my zines have sold through at least one print run. I also give a bunch away for free.
What is the most abstract or unconventional zine you’ve made? How well was it received?
Oddly enough, the sort of illustrated fiction chapbooks I make (like Decomposition) are extremely rare. I see a lot of zines with poetry and personal essays, but my fiction zines are the only zines of their type that I’ve found in more than ten years of going to zine fests + visiting indie bookstores + buying zines on Etsy. This is a shame, because I’d love to see more independently published short fiction.
If I had to guess, I’d say that I’m probably looking in the wrong place by thinking of indie fiction publications as “zines.” There are a seemingly infinite number of micropresses that publish chapbooks, but they don’t really espouse the same “anyone can make a zine” ethos. Again, this is a shame, because the painful process of submitting your work and being rejected – or having your work accepted but having no compensation or control over the publication – sometimes isn’t worth the prestige of “being a published author.” Also, I get the sense that many indie authors publish directly to Kindle Unlimited (or similar services), but these sorts of venues tend to attract people writing commercial genre fiction.
In any case, my fiction zines have been relatively well received. They sell well on Etsy, and people consistently leave kind reviews. People also say kind things to me in real life, which is always nice.
Why do you make zines?
I started making zines because it was fun and easy. I had a lot of short experimental writing that was doing numbers and otherwise getting positive feedback online (mainly on Tumblr), so I thought it might be interesting to collect my flash fiction into what became my first zine, Ghost Stories, which I published in November 2018.
Partially because my stories have been so well received online and in zine form, I started submitting original short fiction to various magazines. Unfortunately, it’s a tough market. These days, I make zines to create a venue for work that wouldn’t otherwise be published.
What software or materials do you use to make zines?
I use Photoshop to create individual pages, which I then collate in Adobe Acrobat. This produces a PDF that I send to the printing service I use, Mixam. Creating individual pages in Photoshop is admittedly an insane thing to do, but it works for me because I’m already using Photoshop every day to draw.
What software or materials have you seen other zinesters use?
Most normal people use a specialized layout software like InDesign. Unfortunately, InDesign is quite expensive, and the learning curve is quite steep. Scribus is an open-source alternative to InDesign that I’ve seen people recommend on Discord servers, and MacOS people really seem to like something called Swift Publisher.
What is your favorite part of zine-making?
I love working with artists! It’s really fun to commission people and watch their illustrations develop step by step. I don’t claim any creative input; I just compliment the artists and cheer them on while telling how much I appreciate their creative decisions. What a joy and a miracle it is that you can pay a stranger on the internet to make art for you.
I actually love this process so much that it’s my dream to be an editor. Maybe one day...
Where do you get your inspiration for zines?
When I have enough loose stories, I collect them into a zine. Simple as.
How do you build community with your zines?
Damn. That’s a good question. I wish I knew.
I’ll talk more about this in my response to the “things you don’t like” topic.
What platforms do you use to spread your zines?
For promotion, I mainly use Twitter, where I keep a pinned promo post:
https://twitter.com/kathrynthehuman/status/1707808727200313431
Engagement on Twitter comes and goes; but, despite everything, a lot of artists and writers still use it. I’ve found that many zine makers are far more active on Instagram, but your mileage may vary. Even more than on Twitter, engagement on Instagram is dependent on a bizarre and ever-shifting algorithm, and this seems to be getting worse every day as Instagram attempts to become more like TikTok. Tumblr is chill and fun but mostly useless from a promotional standpoint, while Bluesky feels oddly corporate, like LinkedIn for creative industry professionals.
As it currently stands, TikTok is a bit scary. I imagine that this is especially the case for people making zines dealing with sensitive topics. Not only is there the potential to trigger the aggro of hostile randos, but the hashtags you use can also affect what the algorithm shows you as a consumer.
To give a personal example, I used to post tiny microlectures about ecological themes in fiction and glamour videos of my own houseplants, which seems fairly innocuous, right? During the Hawai’i wildfires of August 2023, the TikTok algorithm decided to show me all sorts of videos in which very earnest young people expounded on how the wildfires were caused by Jewish space lasers, and it only got worse from there. I have since deleted that account. My stomach isn’t strong enough for TikTok. I don’t mind making videos, but I would need someone else to actually manage the account.
Despite its many problems, Etsy remains the best platform to aid discovery of physical zines, while Itch.io is far and away the best place to host digital zines. In terms of in-person tabling at events, subscribing to the email newsletters of various zinefests and zine-related organizations seems to be the way to go.
If you could share some tips with someone new to the world of zines, what would it be?
The best thing about making zines is that there are no gatekeepers, so:
1. Don’t think about it too hard. Just do it!
2. Don’t work too hard. Nothing has to be perfect!
3. Don’t worry about reception. Your art deserves to exist and be shared!
Is there anything you don’t like about zines or zine-making?
Generally speaking, there are zero drawbacks to making a zine. The only negative aspect of the five years I’ve spent making zines has to do with the lack of community.
I think this boils down to zine-making being a hobby. This hobbyist mindset leads to people not demonstrating the respect and courtesy that you’d expect from a serious creative community. Essentially, because no one is “a professional,” there’s very little sense of the sort of longterm emotional investment in the success of fellow creators that would engender the formation of a community. Let me give two personal examples of what this looks like.
When I taught at George Mason, I lived in Washington DC and was involved with the DC Zinefest. I went to their workshops, I tabled at their events, and I contributed to their anthologies. Everyone was friendly, and I enjoyed myself. I helped promote the event and organization at my university, and it was good vibes all around.
The day after the Covid pandemic resulted in the formal declaration of a national emergency in March 2020, I was informed that my contract at George Mason would not be renewed, and I had to scramble to figure out what I was going to do. I ended up moving to Philadelphia, which became a justification for the people at the DC Zinefest not allowing me to table. I tried to talk with them, saying that I really needed a sense of community during the pandemic, and they were unnecessarily harsh about confirming their rejection. If a community exists to support its members when they need help, I think it’s fair to say that the people running the DC Zinefest had no interest in fostering a community.
Here’s another example: There’s a folklore zine that seems to be trying to create a sense of community through its Instagram account. I’ve been fairly active in this community, and I was finally encouraged to submit a piece of my own work to the zine this past January. The zine organizers said they accepted my submission, but it wasn’t actually printed in the zine. So, after I received the copy I ordered, I wrote to the zine to ask if they were planning to publish my story online, or in a different issue. They said they got a few late submissions that they liked better than mine, and that they’d made a mistake in telling me they would print my work.
I have a lot of stories like this, unfortunately. I don’t have any wisdom regarding how to handle this betrayal of an imagined sense of community, save to emphasize “don’t think about it too hard, don’t work too hard, and don’t worry about reception.”
Because again, the best thing about making zines is that there are no gatekeepers. Unlike in the publishing industry, boring and lazy people can’t keep you from producing and sharing beautiful and interesting work that’s important, resonant, and unlike anything else that exists.
So that these anecdotes don’t leave a bad taste in your mouth, please let me close with something more upbeat: Since moving to Philadelphia, I’ve managed to become friendly with the people who work at the urban post office in West Philly that I use to mail my zines. They now ask for copies of all my new work, which they share with their kids, who share with their friends. I’ve also passed along a few copies of Stolen Sharpie Revolution, and I hear this has encouraged some of the kids to make stapled photocopy paper zines of their own.
That’s cool as hell, right? It’s so powerful to think that literally anyone can make their own book, just for fun, with nothing to stand in their way.
How many zines have you made?
Twelve! Five short fiction zines, five minicomic zines, one horror-themed haiku anthology, and one collaborative Legend of Zelda haiku anthology.
Did you sell every zine you ever made? Specifically, at least one copy of any zines you produced?
Yes. All of my zines have sold through at least one print run. I also give a bunch away for free.
What is the most abstract or unconventional zine you’ve made? How well was it received?
Oddly enough, the sort of illustrated fiction chapbooks I make (like Decomposition) are extremely rare. I see a lot of zines with poetry and personal essays, but my fiction zines are the only zines of their type that I’ve found in more than ten years of going to zine fests + visiting indie bookstores + buying zines on Etsy. This is a shame, because I’d love to see more independently published short fiction.
If I had to guess, I’d say that I’m probably looking in the wrong place by thinking of indie fiction publications as “zines.” There are a seemingly infinite number of micropresses that publish chapbooks, but they don’t really espouse the same “anyone can make a zine” ethos. Again, this is a shame, because the painful process of submitting your work and being rejected – or having your work accepted but having no compensation or control over the publication – sometimes isn’t worth the prestige of “being a published author.” Also, I get the sense that many indie authors publish directly to Kindle Unlimited (or similar services), but these sorts of venues tend to attract people writing commercial genre fiction.
In any case, my fiction zines have been relatively well received. They sell well on Etsy, and people consistently leave kind reviews. People also say kind things to me in real life, which is always nice.
Why do you make zines?
I started making zines because it was fun and easy. I had a lot of short experimental writing that was doing numbers and otherwise getting positive feedback online (mainly on Tumblr), so I thought it might be interesting to collect my flash fiction into what became my first zine, Ghost Stories, which I published in November 2018.
Partially because my stories have been so well received online and in zine form, I started submitting original short fiction to various magazines. Unfortunately, it’s a tough market. These days, I make zines to create a venue for work that wouldn’t otherwise be published.
What software or materials do you use to make zines?
I use Photoshop to create individual pages, which I then collate in Adobe Acrobat. This produces a PDF that I send to the printing service I use, Mixam. Creating individual pages in Photoshop is admittedly an insane thing to do, but it works for me because I’m already using Photoshop every day to draw.
What software or materials have you seen other zinesters use?
Most normal people use a specialized layout software like InDesign. Unfortunately, InDesign is quite expensive, and the learning curve is quite steep. Scribus is an open-source alternative to InDesign that I’ve seen people recommend on Discord servers, and MacOS people really seem to like something called Swift Publisher.
What is your favorite part of zine-making?
I love working with artists! It’s really fun to commission people and watch their illustrations develop step by step. I don’t claim any creative input; I just compliment the artists and cheer them on while telling how much I appreciate their creative decisions. What a joy and a miracle it is that you can pay a stranger on the internet to make art for you.
I actually love this process so much that it’s my dream to be an editor. Maybe one day...
Where do you get your inspiration for zines?
When I have enough loose stories, I collect them into a zine. Simple as.
How do you build community with your zines?
Damn. That’s a good question. I wish I knew.
I’ll talk more about this in my response to the “things you don’t like” topic.
What platforms do you use to spread your zines?
For promotion, I mainly use Twitter, where I keep a pinned promo post:
https://twitter.com/kathrynthehuman/status/1707808727200313431
Engagement on Twitter comes and goes; but, despite everything, a lot of artists and writers still use it. I’ve found that many zine makers are far more active on Instagram, but your mileage may vary. Even more than on Twitter, engagement on Instagram is dependent on a bizarre and ever-shifting algorithm, and this seems to be getting worse every day as Instagram attempts to become more like TikTok. Tumblr is chill and fun but mostly useless from a promotional standpoint, while Bluesky feels oddly corporate, like LinkedIn for creative industry professionals.
As it currently stands, TikTok is a bit scary. I imagine that this is especially the case for people making zines dealing with sensitive topics. Not only is there the potential to trigger the aggro of hostile randos, but the hashtags you use can also affect what the algorithm shows you as a consumer.
To give a personal example, I used to post tiny microlectures about ecological themes in fiction and glamour videos of my own houseplants, which seems fairly innocuous, right? During the Hawai’i wildfires of August 2023, the TikTok algorithm decided to show me all sorts of videos in which very earnest young people expounded on how the wildfires were caused by Jewish space lasers, and it only got worse from there. I have since deleted that account. My stomach isn’t strong enough for TikTok. I don’t mind making videos, but I would need someone else to actually manage the account.
Despite its many problems, Etsy remains the best platform to aid discovery of physical zines, while Itch.io is far and away the best place to host digital zines. In terms of in-person tabling at events, subscribing to the email newsletters of various zinefests and zine-related organizations seems to be the way to go.
If you could share some tips with someone new to the world of zines, what would it be?
The best thing about making zines is that there are no gatekeepers, so:
1. Don’t think about it too hard. Just do it!
2. Don’t work too hard. Nothing has to be perfect!
3. Don’t worry about reception. Your art deserves to exist and be shared!
Is there anything you don’t like about zines or zine-making?
Generally speaking, there are zero drawbacks to making a zine. The only negative aspect of the five years I’ve spent making zines has to do with the lack of community.
I think this boils down to zine-making being a hobby. This hobbyist mindset leads to people not demonstrating the respect and courtesy that you’d expect from a serious creative community. Essentially, because no one is “a professional,” there’s very little sense of the sort of longterm emotional investment in the success of fellow creators that would engender the formation of a community. Let me give two personal examples of what this looks like.
When I taught at George Mason, I lived in Washington DC and was involved with the DC Zinefest. I went to their workshops, I tabled at their events, and I contributed to their anthologies. Everyone was friendly, and I enjoyed myself. I helped promote the event and organization at my university, and it was good vibes all around.
The day after the Covid pandemic resulted in the formal declaration of a national emergency in March 2020, I was informed that my contract at George Mason would not be renewed, and I had to scramble to figure out what I was going to do. I ended up moving to Philadelphia, which became a justification for the people at the DC Zinefest not allowing me to table. I tried to talk with them, saying that I really needed a sense of community during the pandemic, and they were unnecessarily harsh about confirming their rejection. If a community exists to support its members when they need help, I think it’s fair to say that the people running the DC Zinefest had no interest in fostering a community.
Here’s another example: There’s a folklore zine that seems to be trying to create a sense of community through its Instagram account. I’ve been fairly active in this community, and I was finally encouraged to submit a piece of my own work to the zine this past January. The zine organizers said they accepted my submission, but it wasn’t actually printed in the zine. So, after I received the copy I ordered, I wrote to the zine to ask if they were planning to publish my story online, or in a different issue. They said they got a few late submissions that they liked better than mine, and that they’d made a mistake in telling me they would print my work.
I have a lot of stories like this, unfortunately. I don’t have any wisdom regarding how to handle this betrayal of an imagined sense of community, save to emphasize “don’t think about it too hard, don’t work too hard, and don’t worry about reception.”
Because again, the best thing about making zines is that there are no gatekeepers. Unlike in the publishing industry, boring and lazy people can’t keep you from producing and sharing beautiful and interesting work that’s important, resonant, and unlike anything else that exists.
So that these anecdotes don’t leave a bad taste in your mouth, please let me close with something more upbeat: Since moving to Philadelphia, I’ve managed to become friendly with the people who work at the urban post office in West Philly that I use to mail my zines. They now ask for copies of all my new work, which they share with their kids, who share with their friends. I’ve also passed along a few copies of Stolen Sharpie Revolution, and I hear this has encouraged some of the kids to make stapled photocopy paper zines of their own.
That’s cool as hell, right? It’s so powerful to think that literally anyone can make their own book, just for fun, with nothing to stand in their way.