This is not the post I envisaged kicking my blog off again with.
But its what I need to write about.
Sir Terry Pratchett died today.
He wasn’t just a superb humorous fantasy author, he was an absolute gent of a man. A quirky individual with a constant smile, and a gentleness about him. He was one of my heroes.
I first encountered his books when I was 18 in 1990. A willowy blond called Larissa introduced me to The Colour of Magic at university, rhapsodising about the Unseen University and Rincewind. I’d loved straight fantasy like The Hobbit and David Eddings’ Belgariad, but this was my first excursion into funny yet sharp fantasy (I was 21 when I first read Douglas Adams).
I loved the witches books, and those about Death. Fast funny fiction, that led me to the likes of Adams and Robert Rankin. It was via Robert’s Facebook page that I learned of Sir Terry’s death today. This is what he posted:
I have just heard the heart-breaking news that my old friend Terry Pratchett has passed on. He was an enthusiastic supporter of my books back in the early days and gave me a great deal of valuable advice, although, regrettably I did not take much of it. We used to get into some glorious arguments after we’d had a few glasses of wine and shared a lot of laughs. He was a great man, I am proud that I knew him, the world has lost a wonderful talent. What a tragedy. Be at peace, Terry, we love you. I’m going to get drunk now.