Two years ago, Blurb hosted a photo walk and meetup in New York City. Before our walk began, a guy walked up holding a small publication and said, “Here, I made this.”

That was Greg Streech, photographer, self-publisher, and the creator of Sidequest, a series of small-run zines documenting the adventures he finds between everyday obligations. A 450-million-year-old rock outcrop in NYC. A neighborhood ice cream shop. Surfers during a hurricane swell. Each one photographed, written about, sequenced, and printed in runs of 12 to 15 copies.

I knew Greg and I would become fast friends.

Last year, Blurb returned to New York for another photo walk. The day before the event, Greg reached out and asked, “Hey, do you have a moment?” People who print tend to like other people who print, so I said, “Absolutely.” We met at a coffee shop. Greg walked in, opened his backpack, and placed a stack of books on the table. “This is what I’ve been working on,” he said.

What caught my attention right away was the sheer number of personal books Greg created. Sometimes, when we begin to obsess about our art, it’s easy to fall prey to the idea that everything we make needs to be made for the other and not for ourselves. This is a mistake. Greg showed me numerous small run books done for friends and family, a style of publication often overlooked by those with serious intentions. I interviewed Greg to find out more about his history, photography, and why print matters. 

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Tell us who you are and what you do.  

I think of myself as a kind of poet working with photography, a sharp pen, and small-run books and zines. I’m a photographer and self-publisher who creates books and zines that document what I call a “sidequest,” small adventures I find in my travels, both daily and longer-term explorations. At its core, my work pays attention to everyday events and shares those observations in printed form. 

How long have you been doing photography? Are you a film or digital guy? 

Photography has been part of my life for longer than I care to admit. In the early 80s, my father handed down his Nikon F2A, which marked the beginning of photography as a pursuit. In high school, I had an exceptional photography teacher and a fully equipped darkroom. This is where the bug took hold.

While I loved working in the darkroom, I was also drawn early to digital tools. I remember experimenting with one of the early Sony Mavica cameras and their 3.5-inch floppy disks. While I appreciate the tactile draw of film, I work almost entirely 100% digital.  

How long have you been printing your work, and what does printing force you to do that digital does not? 

My process always centered on the print. Photographs left in folders on a computer feel incomplete to me. Sharing what I captured is and has always been the end goal. 

Online sharing misses the personal connection that physical objects engender. Its anonymity erases the lines of connection. This is why I don’t distribute my books as PDFs.  

Printing books is the next level of making simple prints, as it forces decisions about sequencing, pacing, and what really matters in a ‘body of work’. Most importantly, it turns photographs into objects that can be shared, handled, and lived with, which creates a personal kind of engagement. 

When did you discover Blurb and MagCloud? 

Five or six years ago, YouTube recommended a Dan Milnor video that had me laughing and wondering, “Who is this guy and what is he talking about?” The algorithm got it right that day. 

In the video, you laid out the value of a field book, and that resonated with me. I realized I could create small, personal publications, the next level of printing. A field book documenting my explorations and the ability to share them with others eventually became the foundation for my Sidequest projects. 

Do you design differently when the audience is small and personal versus public? How does that change your editing? 

Yes and no. When I write, I often imagine a specific person reading it. I read John McPhee’s advice about curing writer’s block by writing a letter to your mother (about a bear, as I recall). From that, I took the idea that my writing should be personal, as if I were writing to a specific person. I found that this leads to a conversational tone that also works for a broad audience.  

At the same time, I try to ensure the work stands on its own, regardless of who encounters it. An extra editing pass, if you will. For me, making these publications is ultimately about expression, and that intention guides both the editing and the design. 

Why do small print runs matter in a world where everything can be shared instantly digitally? 

Printed photographs and books offer a level of control and personal interaction that digital displays simply don’t.  

Consider that screens vary in quality, brightness, color, and size, and the experience changes constantly. Digital images are rarely what I had in mind, while a printed piece is stable and deliberate. 

There is also the value of the investment. I’m reminded of a comment Jeff Tweedy made about buying records versus streaming music. Buying a record requires your investment, which changes how you listen. Investment leads to full engagement. I see the same effect with books and zines. A printed object forces the viewer to slow down and engage more deeply.  

For example, one of the five field books I made years ago still sits on the desk of a gym I used to belong to in Denver, quietly reaching people in a way a digital file never could. 

What’s the difference between making images and making a book? 

Making a photograph is only one of the disciplines required in making a book. Both aim to evoke feeling and meaning, but a book adds many more interesting layers: writing, sequencing, pacing, typography, layout, and physical materials, to name a few. It’s humbling to realize how many skills are involved, and like the photographers I know, I enjoy the learning process. 

At the same time, some of the design principles overlap. In Zoë Sadokierski’s recent Create with Me event, she demonstrates how photographic composition principles like the rule of thirds can guide page layout. That connection changed the way I approach designing spreads by considering my photography composition techniques to page layouts. 

Tell us about Sidequest. 

Sidequest is an ongoing photography-based series of small-run zines that I produce several times each year. I typically print a dozen or so copies and mail or hand them to friends, family, and occasionally people I meet along the way. 

Each issue combines photographs, writing, painting, and drawing from the small adventures I pursue as a part of my daily life. These sidequests range widely, from tracking down a 450‑million‑year‑old rock outcrop near Columbia University, to hitting a great neighborhood ice cream shop, to photographing surfers during a hurricane swell at the beach. 

At its core, Sidequest is about adventuring in the world between everyday obligations and sharing those observations with others. 

Who receives these publications? And how many do you print? 

I usually print between 12 and 15 copies per run. Most are mailed to friends and family, and I often keep a few on hand to give to people I meet who are interested in photography, books, or creative projects. 

What is your favorite format, or set of book ingredients? 

After experimenting with many formats, I’ve settled on 8×10 as my favorite size. It gives me enough space to balance photographs and text across a spread in a way that feels visually comfortable and deliberate. 

What has the response been? Any specific examples? 

Naturally, my mother thinks they are the greatest things ever made. (Thanks, Mom.)  

A more useful example occurred a few years ago when a copy editor friend of my daughter’s picked up a copy from the coffee table and began flipping the pages. Something in the text caught her eye, then she shifted back in her chair in a way that made it clear something had resonated. That moment made me realize these publications could speak to a wider audience rather than just document my own experiences. 

What’s one mistake people make when printing their first book? 

Not printing at all. I suspect that the urge to be perfect holds back more than a few. Maybe they forget that printing a book is not a life‑or‑death decision. Even if the result isn’t what you hoped, you’ve learned something valuable, and the cost is small compared to the experience gained. It’s also possible, and more likely, that your stuff looks amazing printed in a book.  

The first magazine I got left me feeling a shocked elation. I couldn’t believe how good my photos look. The color, the layout…it was thrilling to me.  

Any advice for someone trying this for the first time? 

Start simple. Make a small book from something immediate, like photos from a weekend with friends, a short trip, or a local walk. Make a quick magazine or digest-style book, then give copies to the people who were part of it. A quick, low‑pressure project combined with the happiness of the recipients…this is a great path.  

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Dan Milnor is Blurb’s creative ambassador. He shares photography, bookmaking, and creative advice monthly. Register to get his insights straight to your inbox.