Zine Review: Pieces #3 On Writing, Drinking & Demons

Pieces 3

Pieces #3 On Writing, Drinking & Demons

I understand now what drives a lot of people to do this and, more importantly, the vague reasons why.

Pieces #3 is one of those zines where I want to quote everything because I identify with this, and with this, and with this…

You get the picture.

From the beginning, Nichole had me with this zine for a number of reasons. Perhaps because I’ve been so desperate to write – to actually finish something. Or perhaps because I’ve been exactly where she was when she made this zine: longing for the possibilities an altered state of mind might provide. I, too, used to look down my nose at people who did such things, but I also now understand why they do it…

As Nichole states on the first page, this zine was written over two days in a flow-of-consciousness style while she swims to the bottom of a bottle of Captain Morgan. It’s an interesting transition as the first strip of black is put on the page partway through the journey and ends with white text on a page of black – plus a photocopied, handwritten page almost as if to prove it had happened.

Even in the literally darkest part of the zine, she seems unsure to the point of needing ‘proof’. Or I could just be reading into it too much. Either way, I still feel the urge to take her out for an ice cream and tell her that I really like her zines.

The next morning in the zine dawns bright once again with black-bordered type on white pages. Attempts to write disappear completely in the wake of ice creams and conversations. While the whole thing left Nichole feeling like she wasn’t sure whether it was a success or not, I see it as the former. After all, I think producing words requires ‘getting out and living a bit’.

For the anxious and shy, sometimes that requires alcohol.

Drinking never seems to accomplish what I initially set out to do…

I hear you.

Somethin’ somethin’.

This zine is from 2010, but I’ve never been one for keeping up with the current times. In the back of the zine, Nichole says to share your similar experiences. I won’t go into too much detail, but it did make me think…

I’ve done this before. I’ve tried to find my muse hidden in the sweet, murky depths of glasses of Kahlua and Frangelico. Vodka, though clear, provides an equally excellent hiding place, because I never seem to find what I’m looking for.

The thing is, it doesn’t help me write. The conjoined twin of my writing is fear, and I can never crawl far enough into a bottle (or various other metaphors) to rip the fear away from the writing. Fear is annoyingly sobering, so even when I do sit to write after a few, I find my fuzzy mind dissolves entirely too quickly…

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