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He makes me feel like that. Like flying.

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
Flying
Makes
Feel
Feels
Like

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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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What happens when perfection isn't good enough?
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Shay sometimes talked in a mysterious way, like she was quoting the lyrics of some band no one else listened to.
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I have no formal training as a writer at all, not even a single English class in college.
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I feel like sometimes my best friend is not my best friend but my mortal enemy
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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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Didn't this beat everything? A pretty and an ugly taking a stroll together. The warden came closer, confusion all over his middle-pretty face. Tally smiled. At least she was causing trouble to the end. I'm Tally Youngblood, she said. Make me pretty.
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The world needed more fireworks- especially now that there was going to be a shortage of beautiful, useless things.
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Tally turned away. Five minutes was suddenly too long to stand here, eyes burning, unable to cry.
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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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It's just the way things are. she shrugged. It's no one's fault. Or everyone's.
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