This is where I con Andrew into helping me put copies of my zine together while Archer the cat watches on:

The Tweehouse

And this is where Andrew says, “WTF, Teri, stop taking stupid pictures of your feet and help me put this thing together!!!”


Cement, Flour, Saints

Back in the mid-nineties I was one of those angsty teenage girls who wore blue corduroy pants and cardigans and listened to a lot of Eric’s Trip. I was in the suburbs, looking for people to relate to, easily awed by the idea of a City. I first heard about zines in Sassy (god bless Sassy), and then, after following the zine review column in Canada’s monthly music rag, Exclaim, finally sent out a few quarters and stamps to strangers in Canada for their fanzines about Sloan. I read these photocopied booklets, and figured I could make something too. I sat on my bedroom floor with a felt-tip pen and an electric typewriter and wrote this vague, emotional, blurry zine. Melt the Snow #1. It was so embarassing. I mean, the thoughts of any 17 year old are inherently embarrassing – go read your high school diaries if you don’t believe me. That’s why non-teenagers are the best writers of coming-of-age novels.

So, I made 13 issues of Melt the Snow, and then I started another zine called “The Second Part”. I made 4 issues of it before quitting zines in October 2004. I guess “quitting zines” sounds a bit extreme.

I “quit zines” because at the time I wanted to concentrate only on writing fiction, and fiction in zines always seemed a little awkward to me – sloppy editing, releasing work before it was really finished. And there’s that whole stigma of self-publishing your own fiction. Making a zine suddenly seemed too rookie for me. I wanted, you know, the major leagues. And I was working too many hours at an accounting firm anyway to keep up with zine stuff. I hated collating, and I never had enough time to write people back. So I stopped making zines altogether.

And then, a few years passed. I did work on my fiction. I still work on it. And, as time passed, the snobbism I had built up towards zines melted away. Suddenly I remembered how much I loved zines. Their sloppiness and heart, the smudgy uneven tones of a photocopier, all of it. I wanted to make another. So I did.


Cement, Flour, Saints is not the most creative of titles given that the zine is made up of 3 parts (cement, flour, saints). It’s mostly words and a few poorly photocopied photos. You can read about a holy stream in Nova Scotia, about watching fireworks from the roof of an abandoned brewery, and you can bake a plum crumble from a recipe I’ve included. It’s small and square and fits in the palm of your hand. You should read it.

This is how you can order the zine:

The easy way: Paypal me $2 CDN, along with your mailing address so I can send it to you.

The hard way: Send me something as a trade. A mix CD, your own zine, a postcard, a map, your first born, etc etc. If you want to clear the trade with me first, go ahead and email me, but I like surprises too. Email me and I’ll send you my address.

Zine in process

Making a zine kind of looks like this:
Sunday afternoon work

The most important tool on that table is the glass of red wine, followed closely by the Boy Scouts manual.

And near the end, it looks like this:
This is when you start to see the appeal of doing things on the computer.