I was writing when I heard the news that Terry Pratchett had died, and that made it even more heart-breaking.
Is it wrong to cry on the death of someone you haven’t met? I don’t think so – and I am certain I was not alone in doing just that.
We all knew it was coming, because of the illness he called his embuggerance – but that didn’t make the news any easier to hear.
Terry Pratchett was a great writer – his books were original and funny and the words danced off the page like music.
The reason was the amazing mind behind them – he looked at the world with such wisdom and insight. His wit and anger and compassion he made us see so much about our world and ourselves.
In his wizards and witches, his dwarves and trolls and vampires, in his gods and his oh so very human characters – he painted us all. As we are, as we might wish to be.
It saddens me to think that there will be no more Pratchett books appearing to brighten this world.
But – as the man himself wrote –
“No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away…”
