As you've probably heard, we lost a great man today.
Terry Pratchett, the fantastically and deservedly successful author, passed away as he wanted to, in his home, surrounded by his family, with his cat sleeping on his bed.
I don't even have the words for how sad I am feeling right now.
And it was his words that I loved. No other author has shaped my personality with his ideas as he did, spoken to and resonated with me as his characters did, changed my view of the world, of life, of religion and love and honesty and humanity as his writing did. There isn't a single day I don't see Discworld somewhere.
I had the honour of meeting him in 2012, and those hours sat in the bar chatting with him over a couple of pints (he had a pot of tea) will always be a treasured memory. He was as fascinating and witty in person as he is in his novels. Despite the "embuggerance" taking a hold, his conversation sparkled as much as it challenged my thinking (yet again). I came away with the same feeling that I would no doubt have had if I had spoken to God. And, in terms of being a creator, he was a god to me.
I will always be so, so grateful for the words he gave us but so, so, so selfishly devastated for all the words he had left that we'll never get to read.
My only comfort today is from these words,
his words, that prove he will never be forgotten:
"...no one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away..."
Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man
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