I don’t know what other people are saying about Terry Pratchett, but man, I have to add my voice.
Miss you already, Mr. Pratchett. You knew more about witchery than any respectable person could; you opened up a whole newness of the fantasy genre for me; one with humour, so often lacking. You took advantage of the seriousness and stuck two fingers up at the idea that everything’s already been done.
Wyrd Sisters will always be my first love, but because I came late to your books and read new and old mixed up together, I never suffered from the idea that your earlier ones were funnier.
And I admit. I apparently stole a number of your books from a very good friend, including a signed one with a dedication – my only defence when he pounced on his books on visiting me was that I honestly remembered him saying I could keep them. From his reaction I suspect that must have been another book. He’d already bought copies of the missing books, so was kind enough to let me keep them (a good 10 years after he’d lost them 😦 ), but at least he got back his copy of The Colour of Magic. Man, I felt bad.
Thanks, Terry Pratchett, for the laugh-out-louds, the spit-out-your-soups, and the tight, overworked cheek muscles. Thanks for the snippets of paganism, and the crazy but somehow tightly hinged ridiculousnesses that every book of yours has put us through.
Just, thank you.
And just for the record? On this day of your passing, the night is as black as the inside of a cat.
The brightest blessings of all to you.