I'm... I'm doing it wrong.

I heard about PTerry yesterday - well, the day before yesterday now, I suppose - and, well, I didn't really know how to take it. I'd had a panic attack already that day for completely unrelated reasons, so I was doing my damnedest not to go into total shutdown-and-run-away "FLEE! FLEE, FOR THE GODS ARE ANGRY!" mode.

I've read the obituaries, read the tributes, read every good thing the Internet has said about a good man taken by the cruelest sort of disease. In the words of Roland de Chumsfanleigh (whose fault it continues not to be) in Wintersmith, "I hate things that take away what you are". It's an evil death, because memories don't just make you, they make the other people that you meet and know, and Alzheimer's and its affiliate indignities rips them up like old birthday cards, one by one, until you're left in a sea of strangers with only yourself for company, and then it takes that away from you too. It is decay given shape. I hate it.

I don't feel sad, though.

I don't feel anything at all.

There's just a void and a blank space, like the square of pristine paint on a wall where a picture used to hang, and I don't want that to be how he stops being in my life, though he never really was except with his words. I felt... before he left us, I felt that no matter how bad things got there would be new laughter just around the corner, in a place that wasn't here, for people that weren't me that I could be for a little while. Not too long, but long enough to like it.

It's selfish to talk about how he affected me when he's the one who's gone, but I don't know how else to frame it. He's gone, and I'm numb, and there's a blank space on the wall.

And the world has been diminished.

I didn't start reading his books until I was 18 or so, so they're not exactly childhood memories, but Discworld has had a special place in my heart ever since.

RIP, Sir PTerry. We'll miss you

Elcalion, teary

roundworld has certainly lost one of the biggest (fantasy) authors yesterday. He will be missed greatly.

Reading Pratchett thought me a lot about good writing. When I was younger I was working on this big fantasy world, until someone said to me "sounds a bit like discworld". I got into his work and imediately left my own pile of rubish behind to race through his books like Death on the librarian's motorcycle, never looking back. Rest in Peace, Sir.

Thank you, Sir Terry, for all your wonderful words. May you find peace and happiness wherever you are. I was honored to once shake your hand, sir, and will never forget it.

... He died surrounded by his family, with his cat on the foot of the bed.

He left behind 70 novels and at least 1 best-selling series (and probably more- I just haven't had time to read them all). He is up there with history's parody and fantasy greats.

I'd like to see any one of us do better than that. Actually, I'd like to see the lot of us combined do better.

RIP PTerry.

I just... don't know what to say. He was pretty much my favorite author ever.

Rest in peace.

I was only introduced to Sir Terry's writing a short time ago, but he made a huge impact on me. I was slowly making my way through the Discworld series and his even other books. I even did a speech on him in my Speech course last semester. In his memory, I think I will redouble my efforts to complete the series.

He was so brave and unafraid of death, so much like a knight. I don't think he'd want us to dwell on his passing. I just hope he was able to die in just the way he wanted to, content.

COME ALONG, SIR. IT'S TIME TO GO HOME.

The author shrugged his shoulders and followed the skeletal figure. "I made you, you know." He said conversationally.

Death nodded. YOU DID. He said, rubbing his chin in a rueful gesture. I SUPPOSE IT'S FITTING, IN A WAY. STILL, I WOULD HAVE LIKED TO SEE THE ENDING.

"Well, I suppose I can tell you," The author leaned upward and whispered something into Death's...side of the head. One thing that was odd about being a skull was that you had no ears to whisper into.

Death nodded. THAT'S A GOOD ENDING.

The author shrugged his shoulders, and adjusted his hat as he started to fade. "It was a good story."

This is a poem from Poemforyoursprog on Reddit, on the megathread for Terry's death. You can find the thread <a href="http://www.reddit.com/r/books/comments/2ysvzb/terrypratchetthasdied_megathread/">here.

The sun goes down upon the Ankh,
And slowly, softly fades -
Across the Drum; the Royal Bank;
The River-Gate; the Shades.

A stony circle's closed to elves;
And here, where lines are blurred,
Between the stacks of books on shelves,
A quiet 'Ook' is heard.

A copper steps the city-street
On paths he's often passed;
The final march; the final beat;
The time to rest at last.

He gives his badge a final shine,
And sadly shakes his head -
While Granny lies beneath a sign
That says: 'I aten't dead.'

The Luggage shifts in sleep and dreams;
It's now. The time's at hand.
For where it's always night, it seems,
A timer clears of sand.

And so it is that Death arrives,
When all the time has gone...
But dreams endure, and hope survives,
And Discworld carries on.

May he have a good journey across the Desert.

On the Disc, it's said that a man isn't dead until his name is no longer spoken.

"In the Ramtop village where they dance the real Morris dance, for example, they believe that no-one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away - until the clock he wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of someone’s life, they say, is only the core of their actual existence."

In this way, at least, the good Sir Pratchett will live for as long as we do, and longer.

I can only hope, that when it came to be his time, Death came to him and guided him to the next life.

Towards the end of his life, he was angry at the loss of his memories. Now, he has all of the memories of creation to look over. And as he looks back, seeing the collective memories of all who have passed before him, and all who still live, he will see just how many he entertained. How many he made laugh. How many he made ponder their reality. He will look back, and see the love and sorrow of those who knew him, even if only through his books, as they learn of his passing. Hopefully, he will look back on his life and smile.

It was near the end of middle school and I had drifted away from fantasy. The traditional Tolkienian high magic kind of stuff no longer did it for me. Even Dungeons and Dragons had grown stale. I had migrated to mysteries and giant doorstop thrillers.

And then, while I was on vacation in Florida, my grandmother bought a copy of Witches Abroad for me at a library charity sale. The dust cover was worn and the spine was practically broken. That combined with the cartoonish depiction of the main characters put me a little off. I didn't say anything -- you know, cause it's from my grandma and all. Still, despite my trepidation, I cracked open the book that night and began to read.

Cut to now. I still have that copy of Witches Abroad even though it's in even worse shape. I have almost every other Discworld book as well. While I still am not fond of traditional high fantasy, Terry Pratchett's works helped me see it in a new light. He showed me the gentle parody, simultaneously mocking while establishing a world that stands by itself. His words shaped mine, and for that I am forever grateful.



Farewell.

I hope he's living it up with the Nac Mac Feegle.

Relevant. I think.

As May 4th is Star Wars Day, I feel like May 25th ought to be Sir Terry's day forever more.

There are actually tears, they just haven't left my eyes yet.

I found his coat of arms while looking him up online:



His motto? "Do not fear the Reaper."


Here's to Sir Terry Pratchett and his craft! Let's remember him fondly and keep him and his wonderful characters in our hearts forever.

First Leonard Nimoy, now Pterry? What the heck.

My mom says they always come in threes... so as if this isn't sad enough, now I'm wondering who's next. {= (

~Neshomeh

Since it lets me work through it a little by writing, and I doubt that Pterry would object to people expressing their grief through the written word.

News from OFUDisc

(Yes, it is supposed to end that abruptly.)

hS

I... Don't really know what to say, either. RIP, I guess.
... Remind me to never speak at a funeral, ever.

I've only read bits and pieces of his books, but I liked what I'd read. The world lost another artist today.

Sad indeed.

RiP, Pterry, RiP.

"AT LAST, SIR TERRY, WE MUST WALK TOGETHER.

Terry took Death’s arm and followed him through the doors and on to the black desert under the endless night.

The End."

I guess we all knew it was coming, but I didn't realise it would be so soon. I thought he had at least another year of lilacs.

Rest in peace, Sir Terry.

Twitter feed, for those who might not have seen it.

Apparently he died at home with his family, which... considering what he said in the recent non-fiction collection, makes me suspect a certain cause of death.

But... yeah. Pterry - and his writing - will be sorely missed.



hS