I’ve nothing profound to say about the death of my favorite author and one of my favorite human beings now that I’ve stopped crying enough to type, but I’ll try. Terry Pratchett had an immense influence on my own writing style, including some bad habits, and on my humanistic philosophy, including some opinions on exclamation points. His death feels like losing a friend, a mentor, and a family member.
Selfishly, I mourn the future stories of dozens of characters that I loved and now feel a little bit lost to me too: Esme Weatherwax, Sam Vimes, Tiffany Aching, the Patrician, and Archchancellor Ridcully are just a few that I feel I’ve lost.
I’ve had two Pratchett quotes up on Facebook for the decade I’ve been on it, so I’m glad that I celebrated him while he was alive and might somehow have been able to appreciate it. But perhaps I’ll share one more now. *Leans in conspiratorially.*
“Do you not know that a man is not dead while his name is still spoken?”