Phoebe North's Blog, page 5

Poetry Sunday: The Children are Carried Off

Or “the inciting incident.”

The Children are Carried Off

If we had not scribbled all those guidebooks in broad marker,

you would never have traipsed through the estuaries

that knotted between crumbled curb and crumbled road

on that dog-eared midday. Only later, in the gutter, would they find

the scattered remains of your pockets—your knife, your pilfered

cigarettes—but not your provisions, your powder keg,

our map, or even the grenadine shine of your pixie dust left coating

trampled hickory leaves. Be...

Super secret Starglass mission at BEA13!

Hey all,

I’m in New York City right now for BookExpo America. Tomorrow, I will be roaming the floor like the ARC-hungry beast that I am!

I won’t be signing this year, but I will have Starglass swag to give away–AND I have exactly TWO advance copies of Starglass to share with you!

How can you get one?

First, find me! I am the author with turquoise bangs, carrying a TARDIS purse! Then, be one of the first two people to say the secret words:

LIBERTY ON EARTH, LIBERTY ON ZEHAVA!

Good luck, and spread t...

The Vulcan and the Other

In last week’s post about Star Trek Into Darkness I mentioned that you probably shouldn’t ask me about the aliens of the Abramsverse.

You’re about to find out why.

First, let’s discuss the role aliens played in the original incarnation ofStar Trek.

One of Roddenberry’s explicit goals in what is now known asThe Original Series was to present a genuinely diverse society. This is spelled out plainly in the Star Trek writers guide:

THE CREW

International in origin, completely multi-racial. But even in...

Poetry Sunday: The Darlings

Another Peter poem. The children are yet to be carried off.

The Darlings

We built our rooms from wet cardboard, duct tape,

scrolling curtains on walls with sepia

crayons, cornflower-toned jays peering in.

Barefoot, my brother and I played checkers

on the soggy floor. Barefoot, my brother

tore my hair from my scalp. And my brother

who was always my brother grew freckled

and dark in the sun. Grew lean. Dug crooked

teeth into my forearm. Spat baby teeth

and blood. And my brother and I built rooms

on the car...

Star Trek: Into Narrative

For reference, if I were a TOS character, I’d be this one.

I just got back from seeingStar Trek and, hey, Internet, I want to talk about it!

Spoilers, okay?

So I think the JJ Abrams reboot is a mixed bag, not in the least because we won’t get a TV show while he’s at the helm and the kind of Trek I like–the exact kind most people hate, with scenes of people at board meetings talking about diplomacy and shiz–isn’t going to happen while we have Trek on the big screen. That’s okay. I’m okay with Tre...

Poetry Sunday: Peter Gnashes His Pretty White Teeth with Joy

If there’s one thing I enjoyed doing in the years 2006 and 2007, it was starting poem sequences and never finishing them. Over the next few weeks, I’ll be posting pieces from one of these sequences, called the “Neverwood poems.”

Peter Gnashes His Pretty White Teeth with Joy

He was solitude, squatting on the red

enamel tricycle, squinting into

the searing morning sun. A tow-headed

boy. The only living creature. Digging

swollen boy-hands into clay soil. Building

trenches with a blue plastic spade. Bla...

A star for Starglass and other review news!

Trade reviews for Starglasshave begun to roll in, and Monday brought with it some lovely news: my first novel has received a starred review fromPublisher’s Weekly! You can read the whole thing here, but my favorite bit was this:

This richly textured first novel deserves to be widely read.

Aww . . . you guys, I am just so over the moon!

My little book has also been reviewed by Kirkus. It’s only available to subscribers right now (you’ll eventually be able to read it here), but they said ofStargla...

Poetry Sunday: My Mother’s First Boyfriend, Who Rode a Motorcycle

Happy mother’s day!

My Mother’s First Boyfriend, Who Rode a Motorcycle

It cost him two dollars twenty seven

cents to fill her up; two dollars twenty seven

cents to ride the length of old highway nine in

August with the wind tucked into his leather

jacket. She held on with manicured hands,

and at stoplights pressed her red mouth to rough

cheeks.

(He was always the Indian when

he was a kid-now he wore a high noon

shadow and oil, like the smell of horses,

was never washed out.)

they shared cigarettes

like sec...

Poetry Sunday: The Tinkerer in Terra Incognito

It makes more sense if you read it aloud.

The Tinkerer in Terra Incognito

Tumbling tippler kitchen nights with the warmonger and the barooming

barrister whom fistpoun down on the tabletop political harumphing and tipples

tumblers: tink tink

while I head-lost drug-plump drawl pencilfine subway maps, scape routes

and hatches loveblind sing-a-songs swaying Well well met my true true

love cry saltsea nosedoun

to form Firmica. One night will crawl way from warm hunger’s mouth

for midnight pisspause—will se...

Introducing Northstarr Book Trailers

Blame the ladies of YA Highway for this madness!

Several months ago, I set out to create a book trailer for Starglass. I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing, but I knew several things: that I couldn’t afford a full-service videographer, and that I wanted a trailer that wascool. My first attempt (which we shall never speak of again) was pretty bad. So I searched high and low for other options, ways to keep costs down while simultaneously creating something distinctive–and representative of my no...