Zines – Part 2
Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway
OK, OK, I have moaned consistently that I can’t use any of the digital media tools but for this Zines project I have realised that I really need to get to grips with what I am doing. Talking to my class mates this week they – and Josh in particular – advised that Canva is a great place to start so that is where I went for the second edition of my Zine. It has taken a while, but here is a picture of the cover page:
The Zine can be viewed here:
And by on PDF here:
I decided to work on a 10 page Zine (in this iteration, at least) which followed the years in my own history and the history of LGBTQ+ rights in the context of 2026 LGBTQ+ History Month. Narrative is that while it may have been difficult for those who came before me and the gains by those more courageous than me who gained the rights queer people enjoy today, there political, social and religious environment today means that these rights are at risk again in 2026 which is why a History Month and a Pride Month remain vital fixtures in the equality calendar.
The story is captured in these 10 pages:
Page 1:
This front cover is designed as an introduction to the Zine and makes it clear what the subject is. For the first time, I was able to use Canva to create the document and while it was a long and laborious process, I am pleased with the results, it includes a range of text which I have written, photographs I have taken as well as images created on AI. In addition, I used the tools available in Canva to create the Zine’s overall design.
Page 2
The focus of this page was based on this text: I was born in 1967, the same year the Sexual Offences Act partially decriminalised homosexuality in England and Wales. Partially. That word matters. Because while some men in some places could finally love each other without going to prison, the law wasn’t written for people like me. In Scotland, where we lived when I was a boy, it remained completely illegal to be gay until I was 13. Not just illegal to act on it; illegal to be it. The message was clear: you are criminal. You are wrong. You are diseased. I learned early that there were things you didn’t say out loud. Things you didn’t even think too hard about, because thinking them might make them real. I learned to read the room, to laugh at the right jokes, to turn the conversation when it got too close. I learned that being gay was a choice; that’s what they told us in the churches, in the newspapers, in Parliament itself. And if it was a choice, then I could choose not to be. So I chose. Every single day, I chose not to be.
Clearly such a long narrative was not appropriate for a Zine style publication so I used AI to create a number of images which told the story I was seeking to explain. In addition, I found copies of old press articles to created the ‘cut and paste’ feel of the publication.
Page 3
The focus of the third page of the zine, is the social and political climate in which I grew up. The story above is based on the following paragraph:
In 1981, Scotland finally decriminalised homosexuality. Sort of. The Criminal Justice (Scotland) Act 1980 came into force, and suddenly gay men were’t criminals anymore ; as long as they were over 21, in private, with no more than two people present, and didn’t work in the military. I remember thinking: this is freedom? This is the great victory? It felt less like liberation and more like being on permanent parole. Love if you follow all the rules. Love if you keep it hidden. Love if you’re the right kind of person in the right kind of place. And then came Section 28. In 1988, Margaret Thatcher’s government decided that even this conditional tolerance had gone too far. Local authorities were banned from “promoting” homosexuality or teaching its acceptability as a “pretended” family relationship.Teachers couldn’t help us. Books disappeared from libraries. We were erased from the curriculum, from public life, from acknowledgment. The message was updated but unchanged: you are acceptable only if you stay invisible. So I did. I became a ghost in my own life.
Page 4
Followed by a bridge from my early life through to today and the process of coming out in the months before 2025.
Here’s what they don’t tell you about the closet: it’s not a hiding place. It is a construction project. Every day, you wake up and build the walls a little higher, a little stronger. You learn the architecture of erasure. Through the 90s and 00s, I watched the world change; slowly. The age of consent was equalised in 2001. Civil partnerships came in 2004. Section 28 was finally repealed in 2003. Marriage equality arrived in 2014. Each victory felt both monumental and impossibly distant, like watching people celebrate on the other side of a river you couldn’t cross. I built a life. A good life, in many ways. I had work, friends, routines. I learned to compartmentalise, to function, to appear fine. But compartmentalising is just another word for fragmentation. You can’t section off part of your soul without consequences. The closet doesn’t just hide you from others; it hides you from yourself. I became an expert in deflection. I had my scripts ready. When the conversation turned to relationships, I knew exactly when to change the subject, when to make a joke, when to simply fade into the background. I learned to watch my pronouns, police my inflections, monitor every gesture for signs of betrayal. The worst part? After a while, it stops feeling like lying. It just feels like survival. Like breathing. And all the while, the voice in my head repeated the same lie I’d learned as a child: this is a choice. You can choose not to be this way. You can choose to be normal. Except you can’t. And pretending you can will cost you everything you are.
Page 5
Page 5 is the most text-heavy page of the zine as it tells a little of my coming out story based on the following paragraph:
At 57, I started coming out. There is no single moment I can point to, no dramatic revelation or crisis. It was more like; I just ran out of space. The closet had become so small I could barely breathe. All those years of construction, all those careful walls; they weren’t protecting me anymore. They were suffocating me. I told my first person in March. Just saying the words “I’m gay”; felt like defusing a bomb I’d been carrying for 44 years. My hands shook. My voice cracked. And then nothing exploded. The world didn’t end. Coming out at 57 is absurd and beautiful and terrifying. But here is what I discovered: joy is still possible. Even after all this time. Even after all those years of choosing not to be.I started going to queer spaces, tentatively at first, feeling like an imposter.I attended my first Pride at 57. I’m learning what it means to inhabit my body without shame. To speak without scripts. To exist without apologising.
Page 6
Page 6 turns the focus from me towards the LGBTQ+ community generally and the improtance of an event like History Month.
I decided to reduce the narrative story to 10 bullet points:
- I’m showing up now protesting, writing, speaking because our liberation is shared.
- February 2026 feels uneasy progress once assumed secure no longer feels guaranteed.
- Familiar rhetoric has returned: “traditional values” and “protecting children.”
- Political movements are reframing LGBTQ+ equality as a threat.
- Christian nationalist narratives cast queer rights as anti-religious.
- Trans people face the sharpest attacks healthcare, dignity, and existence politicised.
- The strategy feels historical: moral panic, then legislated discrimination.
- Having lived through Section 28, I recognise how quickly visibility can be erased.
- The harm is human shaping fearful teenagers and closeted adults.
- Yet community, solidarity, and radical welcome are growing.
Page 7
I decided to make a cartoon – based on the Scottish Sunday newspaper’s ‘The Sunday Post’s’ character ‘Oor Wullie’ and in order to do so, I prepared the following prompt for Nano Banana:
Nano Banana Prompt Tabloid Cartoon (Oor Wullie style, queer zine)
Prompt:
Create a full-page, six-panel British tabloid cartoon spread inspired by the visual style of Oor Wullie from The Sunday Post (classic Scottish newspaper comic aesthetic).
Style details:
- Hand-drawn, inked cartoon linework
- Soft watercolour or flat retro colouring
- Expressive, slightly exaggerated facial features
- Warm but gritty tabloid print texture
- Halftone dots and vintage newsprint background
- 1980s → present-day visual progression across panels
Character:
- Same character in every panel, ageing from frightened queer kid (1981) to openly queer adult (57)
- Subtle queer coding: rainbow badges, Pride flags, protest placards, chosen family
- Emotional arc: fear → hiding → grief → Pride joy → self-acceptance → activism
Panels to depict:
Title: Oor Nick (Tagline: It’s not too late. It never was. You are queerly beloved. 💖)
- 1981 bedroom frightened child, Section 28 headlines, shadowy closet imagery. Caption: It’s not a choice, kid. You didn’t pick this any more than your eye colour. There’s nothing wrong with you. Never was.
- World telling him to hide speech bubbles: “Be normal,” “Keep it quiet”. Caption: They’ll tell you to shrink. Hide. Behave. Be “acceptable.” Don’t buy it.
You’re not a problem. Your love isn’t dangerous. - Lost time calendar pages falling, solitary figure. Caption: You’ll lose years. That hurts.Mourn them. But you won’t lose everything. There’s a whole community waiting in the light.
- First Pride crying, surrounded by joyful queer crowd, flags flying. Caption:
At 57, you’ll cry at Pride. Strangers will call you brave. You’ll laugh, flirt, fumble — finally alive in your own skin. - Self-becoming mirror scene, confident stance, queer symbols. Caption:
Coming out isn’t an ending. It’s the glittery, chaotic beginning. You get to build a life that actually fits. - Resistance protest march, placards: “Protect Trans Lives,” “Silence = Shame”. Caption: When they come for us again, you won’t hide. You know the cost of silence. You’ll show up. Fight. Love louder.
Layout:
- Bold tabloid panel borders
- Speech captions matching supplied script
- Retro comic lettering
- Slightly cheeky, tender, defiantly queer tone
Mood:
Bittersweet → joyful → radical hope.
Camp, political, emotionally resonant a queer liberation cartoon in classic Scottish newspaper comic style.
Page 8
In page 8, I focussed on the present. I had not written a narrative for this page and instead decided to focus on the fact that even in progressive places – such as the current Scottish Government – resistance continues and I made this a playful page by including a photograph of a pride-coloured dog (which I photographed – it appeared on a placemat in Next), a picture I created earlier in the week with Nano Banana and a leaflet I saw online posted by the Kite Project.
Page 9
The final narrative page is designed as a rallying cry, a take away for the reader and a few simple steps that every queer person – and every ally – can actually do during History Month to affirm the place of LGBTQ+ people in society.
The images on the page were created for me by AI using the following script:
What can I Do for LGBTQ+ History month? (Whether I’m QUEER or an ALLY)
HISTORY MONTHY is a rallying cry – here’s some simple things with no fluff YOU can do RIGHT NOW!
Learn the history — then say it out loud
Don’t let our stories get flattened.
Read about Section 28. AIDS activism. Trans pioneers. Black & Brown queer leaders. Local heroes.
Share what you learn — in conversations, socials, classrooms, pubs. Visibility starts with memory.
Show up (not just online)
Go somewhere queer this month:
Pride events, talks, zine fairs, film nights, church services, protests, bookshops.
Physical presence builds community — and reminds isolated people they’re not alone.
Act where you stand
Challenge casual homophobia/transphobia.
Write to MPs. Support LGBTQ+ charities. Defend inclusive education.
Allyship isn’t vibes — it’s action, especially when it’s uncomfortable.
Page 10
The final page ends the Zine with a ‘to be continued’ theme together with a poem-like piece of prose which remembers and affirms all those who, like me, struggled with the process of self-acceptance and coming out. The final images combine photographs I took at the ARU ‘After Section 28’ Conference held on 6th February 2026. I was fortunate enough to speak to the authors of ‘The Log Books’, ‘The Light of Day’ as well as speakers including Lord Cashman, Dr Nathaniel Coleman (he generally strikes out the word Coleman but I am not sure how to do that on this blog) and Queer AF journalist Ludovic Parsons.
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