z i n e . d r e a m

Hey all! Come say hello this Sunday at the 6th annual Zine Dream Zine Fair. I'll be sharing a table with the lovely Marta Ryczko, selling prints, stickers, pins, drawings, jewellery and of course, zines!

w o r d s

When I was young, I wasn't exactly a fan of the outdoors.

When Alia Shawkat's character in Whip It said, "I didn't have a Barbie-roller-skates phase; I had a fat-kid-sits-inside-and-reads-a-book phase", she was speaking about me. Surprising, I know.

In grade-school, my brother and I would trek up north to the Bruce Peninsula and spend weeks of our summer vacations living with our cousins on their farm. It was the kind of place where children were encouraged/expected to play outside for most of the day, which would have been fine if I hadn't been so afraid of nature. Their tall, white farmhouse stands out in my mind like a beautiful, cozy beacon, the sole refuge in a vast expanse of windy forest, field, mud and angry chickens.

They also had a cottage on the lake where we would swim, catch frogs and crayfish, explore islands. I always had this vague feeling of not belonging there; I was the awkward, round girl who just wanted to be quiet and inconspicuous, constantly homesick in a dull way. I wasn't outgoing or fun; I felt like someone who had to be tolerated and taken care of. I wanted to escape from that idea of myself, to hide away from the uncomfortable reality that I was facing...so I begged my aunt for books to read.

She gave me A Spell for Chameleon, Piers Anthony's first Xanth novel; I remember looking at the paperback's golden-brown cover and not expecting much. Over the next few days, I sat sideways in an old armchair and read, read, read and (again) fell in love with a book-world full of magic, bravery and puns. It was there that I was introduced to words like scintillating and I readily latched onto the concept of elegant synonyms that evoked more vivid meaning that their commonly used counterparts.

Over the ensuing years, I devoured that series and have since reread many of its volumes. They became a part of me, a piece of the collection of items and ideas and experiences that have shaped me; it's interesting for me to think back, as if I'm still that insecure little girl, longing for an escape and finding one there in the pages of someone else's book, someone else's home. That discomfort and anxiety that I felt as a child has translated into a cherished part of my psyche.

Remember: positivity can grow from negativity.

w o r d s

When I was about 13, I fell in LOVE with a book by Eve Forward called Villians by Necessity, which my grandmother had bought for me at an everything for a dollar, going-out-of-business book sale. It was a fantastic tale of good and evil, light and dark, magic and criminals; the main characters were an assassin, a thief, a druid and a twisted lady-vampire. I literally carried it with me everywhere for a long, long time, drew on all the pages, marked off all of my favourite parts, lent it to my friends (aka, insisted that they also read it) and memorized passages (which I still remember). I also drew some pretty terrible fan art.

This book inspired me to create my first character, a blonde, blue-eyed assassin named Nick Macabre--except that, because I was 13, I pronounced it Maca-bray and thought it sounded like some kind of bony stingray. I went through a serious assassin phase after that (what is that?); I even asked the same grandmother who had bought me the book to sew me a black cloak for Halloween (and I felt excellent skulking around the darkness wearing it and Doc Martens--I suppose it's no wonder that I later also went through pseudo goth phase).

In reality, I'm a BIG believer in non-violence (and always have been), but there was something so terribly romantic about a thoughtful, articulate man, well educated in the ways of weapons and poisons and snuffing corrupt political figures. I guess that was just my teenage bad-boy phase; instead of crushing on punks in leather, I was into medieval anti-heroes.