Cure for writer's block: blow something up(in the story)

That was the whole point of being special: You existed to make sure everyone else behaved, but that didn't mean YOU had to.

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.

Reality had no gears, and you never knew what surprises would come spinning out of its chaos.

Typographical laziness was slowly destroying our culture, according to Lexa and her pals. Inexactitude was death.

Making ourselves feel ugly is not fun." "We are ugly.

Did you really think I was too fragile to know what Deryn was?" "Fragile?" Volger looked about. "I hadn't thought so, but now I find you brooding in a bathroom. This doesn't speak well of your sturdiness.