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Reflect(ing)

April 23, 2011

— cont from ‘oh Reflection (on a past)

indiezine

I realized quickly after writing my last post about our good ole literary zine that I was rather cryptic of what ‘went down’ so to speak. So, I’ll tell that story. I’ve told it enough times and I figure it’s definitely helped to form who I am as a person and I was as a teacher (for that brief moment) so it’s worth sharing.

See, my senior year I was untouchable. Or, so I thought. I was graduating first of all, no matter what I did. Proud much? I had a great group of loyal friends (you know who you are, no shout outs needed). I was going away to college- FAR away and I was editor of the mighty zine. I was a true geek. So, when my dear friend L came back from a stint at the Academy (for those of you that don’t know what the elusive Academy is, just know that it’s a place where high school junior and seniors go b/c they’re too smart for regular high school and their parents have enough money to send them to a pre-College type atmosphere (this is only partly true, but that’s what WE all thought it was, and that’s what matters)) we all went to her for her life’s ‘experiences’. She’d been away for, what, a year and a half, and had come back having lived in a college dorm before her time and having kissed a girl and liked it (ha! she beat you Katy Perry). I’m sure she came back having done many more things than just this, the point is- she came back and she WROTE IT ALL DOWN. That’s what mattered. Finally, I had a writer I could ‘groom’, I could publish, I could worship. I was tired of publishing all the same poets and fiction writers (who were few and far between by the way) and getting good writers in high school to actually SUBMIT their work was like pulling eye teeth. I didn’t want to publish a zine that continuously only had staff published. That wasn’t my thing.

indiezineinside

Anyway- L wrote. Prolifically. Wonderfully. Amazingly. And I wanted to publish her every word. Only, my mentor teacher wouldn’t let me. She said it was inappropriate. Rude. Off-handed. I was appalled. I took it as a personal affront and stopped attending my class with her (I had ‘study-hall’ with her each day to work on the zine). She didn’t report me. She knew I was livid. I was standing up for my friend. Her voice needed to be heard. But my mentor teacher would not budge. She came up with excuse after excuse and I fought her at each one. ‘I can’t publish a poem about homosexuality’ she said ‘That’s homophobic, unfair, stifling the voice of a generation,’ I retorted. She agreed. ‘I can’t publish work with the F#*@ bomb repeated ad nauseum,’ she said, ‘We’ll block them out, you won’t see the F-bomb’ I bargained, ‘I can’t publish this work .  . . the school board is too Christian.’ And that’s what it came down to. I had nothing I could say against that for whatever reason and so, we went underground.

A couple of us from the staff and a few writers I knew had things to share but couldn’t get published in the ordinary way went rogue- created our own indie zine . . . and here it is. (or at least half of it for the current moment).

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