Print is dead? Zine fests say otherwise.

Rows of folding tables covered with small books and magazines, each one produced in small numbers and with zero corporate backing. 

Behind each spread, fresh faces eager to share their creations. Some are deeply personal, others capture and share the mundane. 

Live music provided the soundtrack. Southern Brewing, the evening’s host, added a distinctive hoppiness to the air. 

Trades welcome, but cash and Venmo happily accepted. Would you like a sticker or a button, too? 

Welcome to Tampa Zine Fest. 

First, what’s a zine? And note that it rhymes with bean, scene or green. It’s more or less a mini magazine printed in smaller numbers–maybe one or two copies made by hand, perhaps a run of a hundred or so. Most are smaller in size than traditional magazine. 

I have some in my collection that would easily fit in my wallet. No rules, open swim. 

The zines I produce follow the common 8x5.5-inch size–so a piece of printer paper folded in half–but they can be larger or smaller. Some are color, some are black and white, some use a combination of the two. (Ask me what color printing costs, even on a short run.)

Best I can recollect, page counts for my own zines usually vary from 16 to 42. Some are photo zines, others are built like a traditional magazine with articles, features and interviews. One showcases friends dining with me at Waffle House. 

A zine could be a solo project or feature contributions from a group. Through the decades, they have helped marginalized populations tell their own stories, but anyone can produce one. 

Zine fests like this one offer a welcoming place to sell copies person-to-person. Tampa holds one a year. Orlando did two a year for a while but has since returned to just the usual sole pre-Christmas affair. Other metro areas may offer similar schedules. 

I first got involved with the scene in my high school days. Maybe that’s what helped propel me toward j-school and, soon after, GRM. 

I attended my first zine fest several years ago. A friend’s record store–free plug for Microgroove in Tampa–was listed among the sponsors, so my friend Steve and I went to check it out. Back then, it took place at SPOT, Tampa’s legendary skate park. 

We were the oldest ones in the room. 

Soon after, I started making my own zines, and yes, my hobby very closely follows my profession. Some differences, though: no ads, no contributors, no regard for turning a profit. 

But some commonalities, too: Whether writing about autocross-prepped Miatas or why Shawna Potter, lead singer for the feminist hardcore band War On Women, works to make spaces and venues safer places for all, I enjoy sharing stories. I am just the conduit. I make my zines to the same standard as the magazine you’re holding now. 

Doing these on my own, though, has also forced me to learn InDesign while working on my Photoshop skills. (Spoiler alert: Sarah’s job is still very safe.) 

I also work with my own printer and fulfill my own orders. I had to buy one of those little postal scales. I also offer buttons, stickers and guitar picks because, of course, you gotta have some merch. 

Like autocross, club racing and most everything else involving motorsports, this isn’t viewed as a profitable venture. I sell some zines online. At events like this, my financial goal is to make gas money and, if lucky, cover dinner, too. (This time, though, Steve treated me to a Cubano from LaTeresita, the region’s gold standard.) 

My evening’s haul after the recent 4-hour evening affair? Somewhere between 50 and a hundred bucks. I’d call it a successful outing. Met some cool people, too, and saw a few regulars from the Orlando scene. Andrew, a friend from the autocross and photography scenes, also joined us. 

Why do I brave I-4, the worst highway in the entire world, for events like this as well as our monthly meetups in Orlando? 

I enjoy the culture, the creativity and the enthusiasm for the printed page. Perhaps the bigger reason why attend: I am the cheerleader for the next generation. “Yes, you can do this, and yes, keep sharing your printed works.”

Some say that print is dead, but I say that 40-plus vendors plus a steady stream of people handing over American dollars perhaps says otherwise. 

And, all these years later, I’m still the oldest one in the room.

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