Zine Review

Zine review of Make All Our Dreams Come True by Billy McCall over on the Behind the Zines Distro etsy page.

“Krystle’s zines are as raw and real as they come, and this one here is another example an author just laying it all out for the world to see. She bares her soul, she bleeds onto the pages, willing to tell her life story as authentically as anyone can. That’s easy to do when things have gone well, but not so easy when recalling past trauma, of which she has plenty.

This emotional perzine tells about her struggles of moving from Chicago to Milwaukee. Troubles at work, troubles with landlords, and, worst of all, troubles with her husband. All of this happened years ago, but the stories of heartache were real enough to cause me to feel legitimately angry at someone I never met. “He did WHAT!? Man, fuck that guy!” Krystle manages to write about tough times without romanticizing or exaggerating them. A lot of authors almost make it seem fun to be broke, fun to be addicted, fun to be out of work, but Krystle doesn’t do that. She handles every difficult situation with a proud Midwestern determination and somehow manages to keep moving, keep fighting. This is what real life looks like.”

Printer’s Row Lit Fest

The nice kids at Maudlin House were kind enough to let me tag along at this year’s Printer’s Row Lit Fest. Dmitry made me a sign, I sold some stuff, and met several lovely folks just trying to hustle their writing too. A kind fella named Burton Raabe liked my Weirdo Du Jour zine so much he emailed me this poem he had written about a 24-hour diner in Peoria:

Clark’s Cafe

I found an old matchbook from the 70s.

Clark’s Cafe
“We Never Close”

It was true, there were three shifts per day
all year long, all over town.
If you weren’t workin’
There was sumpin’ wrong.

Some worked 16 hours in two shops.
Workers were paid overtime plus holiday pay.
Unions made sure.

Clark’s was open on Thanksgiving, Christmas,
Easter, all holidays.

They had chili, chicken fried steak,
Burgers, fries, breakfast anytime.
And coffee.

Workers going and coming.
Third shift welders from Kentucky
with soft Appalachian speech.

Blacks from Arkansas
laughing, ordering eggs,
sausage and grits.
And coffee.

Cops at midnight,
off their shift.

Kandy, Brandy, Porsha
(not their real names)
getting eggs and sausage.
Ladies of the night.

We were all ladies and men
of the nights.

No longer selling my items in brick and mortar shops. Finally! I have a secure online store where you can snag copies of my zines, friendly user interface for the online shopaholics. There’s also Behind The Zines Distro, as well.