I’m blinking the tears back on this one, literally.
So Terry Pratchett is dead.
As someone who has been reading his work for over 25 years that’s going to be a bit difficult to take on board.
I found my first Discworld book in a discount book shop in the High Wycombe indoor shopping centre in about 1991, I think. I know I hadn’t been stationed there long, I’d gone into the city on one of my rare days off, desperate to find something to do to occupy my mind.
So you’ll have no idea how overjoyed I was to find a bookshop. And one that sold cheap books, too! I bought The Colour Of Magic there, it cost me about 2 pounds, it was paperback though. I bought it because I liked the Josh Kirby cover, and the blurb sounded like my kind of thing.
I read it all the same day. I actually got back on the bus, went back into the city and bought two more books by Terry. And I’ve never looked back from there. loyally buying each new release since about 4 or 5 yrs ago as my finances no longer allowed for it.
And now he’s gone.
He’ll never get to see “CSI Ankh Morpork” come to fruition. I’ll never get to collaberate with him as a fellow writer.
The closest I came to that was emailing his agent, asking for permission to use the word Vurglesplat in a short I was writing.
That “short” ended up becoming the longest story I’ve ever written. It’s in my Anthology on Amazon, if you want to buy it and read it.
We might have physically lost Terry, but we still have his books, his characters, his ideas. His dreams.
And my desire to be a writer was part of that dream, Terry was one of the many people I found inspiration from.
Let’s not mourn his death, instead let’s celebrate his life.
He ain’t dead. He’s just not holding our hands any more. So let’s run like mad, because he’d want us to.
And now I have to go cry. Scuse me.