Every zinester has their own little ritual while preparing for zine-production. Some light candles for inspiration, some set up a few snacks at arm’s reach to avoid interruptions by an empty stomach, while others, like me, build a playlist and crank up the volume of the speakers to overpower the tap-snap-ding sounds of the typewriter.
On days I work the evening shift, I get the mornings off so my ritual is set to start at 8:30 a.m. but I always remember yet another thing I need to do before I get down to zinestering (i.e. put in a load of laundry, cook something to have it ready for lunch or dinner, do the dishes, check my email…). So it actually starts around 9:15 or so.
I take out all of my zine ammo – the typewriter from the computer room, the stack of papers and construction paper from the desk drawer, the scissors and glue from the pencil holder on the front desk, my pen and zine pages from my backpack – and set it all on the dining room table.
Then, I get a glass of water or tea, depending on my mood.
I turn on the heater because fucking winter sucks, and take off one of my top layers because typing on an oldass manual typewriter definitely burns calories.
Then I plug my phone to the sound system in the living room, and set my playlist to shuffle.
I work to the sounds of death metal, black metal, folk metal, viking metal, gore metal, industrial metal, and the occasional softer sounds of punk, riot grrrl, grunge, old school pop, rock, blues, folk, and Israeli tunes.
I’m well into my zine groove when the clock strikes 11 a.m. and I cringe.
“No, not yet, I’m not ready!” I whine.
But alas, the office awaits. So I reluctantly pick my ass up along with all the pieces of paper spread out on the table like confetti. I lift the typewriter with a grunt and place it back into its case.
Once in the office, I take my zine papers right back out and keep right on working on my zine, only this time without my typewriter or my music, and with occasional interruptions from the clients.
I swear, today, I had to start counting my zine pages again like five times, due to the constant interruptions at the office, before I made it all the way through.
I hate working the evening shift, so my zine ritual morning is absolutely necessary on such days. It has to be perfect in order to maximize pleasure and minimize bullshit. When all items are in place and paper clippings are all over the place, it’s like the stars align and everything is right in my zinester universe.
Entering the Zone, inflaming temperament, and raising spirits, including my own. It wouldn’t surprise me for a second if one day, Rabbis write a bracha especially for making art. I mean, Jim Morrisson already wrote something similar: “Oh great Creator of being, grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives.” This is what I say when the clock strikes 11. Just one more hour. Please!
Peace, love and I should wear a headscarf for this.