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Sooner or later usually means too late

Scott Westerfeld

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Scott Westerfeld
Age: 61
Born: 1963
Born: May 5
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Dallas
Texas
Scott David Westerfeld
Later
Usually
Late
Means
Mean
Sooner

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Left alone, human beings are a plague. They multiply relentlessly, consuming every resource, destroying everything they touch.
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I kissed him once, she whispered. Well done. What did he do? Um... Deryn sighed. He woke up.
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It didn't matter what you looked like. It was how you carried yourself, how you saw yourself.
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Let me get this stright, Aya-Chan. You want me, a person who can't lie, to lie about the fact that I can't lie? -Frizz mizuno
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Maybe she still was a pretty-head, making up irrational stories about the empty forest. The longer she stayed alone out here, the more Tally understood why the Rusties and their predecessors had believed in invisible beings, praying to placate spirits as they trashed the natural world around them.
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Oh, this beast? It's...perspicacious loris. 'Perspicacious' meaning 'wise or canny'. Get stuffed, Bovril said, then giggled. And it insults people, Telsa said. How peculiar.
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Everyone in the world was programmed by the place they were born, hemmed in by their beliefs, but you had to at least try to grow your own brain.
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Suddenly a pair of searchlights lanced out from the frigate. They swept across the dark expanse - bright knives slicing the night into pieces.
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I like my first lines short and declarative. No complicated sentences. Of course, that's not really a Scott thing. It's pretty classic grab-the-reader technique.
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It's amazing how quickly nature consumes human places after we turn our backs on them. Life is a hungry thing.
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With everything so perfect, reality seemed somehow fragile, as if the slightest interruption could imperil her pretty future... all of it felt as tenuous as a soap bubble, shivering and empty.
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The early summer sky was the color of cat vomit. Of course, Tally thought, you’d have to feed your cat only salmon-flavored cat food for a while, to get the pinks right.
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Cure for writer's block: blow something up(in the story)
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She couldn't disappoint the whole village. There were no wallscreens here, no newsfeeds or satellites bands, and touring soccer teams were no doubt few and far between. (...), that made stories a valuable commodity, and it probably wasn't very often that a stranger dropped in from the sky.
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And over all those sleepy weeks, the dream always ended the same way, with the dragon coming for the princess saying the same words every time.... Face it, Tally-wa, you're Special.
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Turns out if you never lie, there's always someone mad at you.
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He squeezed her hand. Then I'll come get you, wherever you are when it happens. We'll be okay. But what about everybody else? He stared out across the river, nodding slowly. My guess is, everybody else is in big trouble.
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Life doesn't come with an instruction manual.
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Gravity was something you could beat all it took was hydrogen, hot air, or even a bit of rope. But being a girl was a miserable, never-ending struggle.
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That was one problem with dramatic exits: Sometimes they wound up making you look like a bubblehead.
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