It's on my Birthday List to read 10 non-Pratchett novels before I turn 27. And I was doing well, 3/4 of the way through book number 5. And then Thursday happened. Now I think my next book will be from the Disc.
Those books got me through so much. They kept me sane at times when I felt as though everything was falling apart around me.
I was hoping that I would one day get to meet the man whose words have kept me in one piece (or indeed helped me when I needed to scrape up those pieces) and thank him. But given Thursday's news, that’s clearly a non-starter.
So instead I’m writing this somewhat soppy post and thinking about one of the many things he’s written that’s helped so much:
"There isn’t a way things should be. There’s just what happens, and what we do."
I hope Death proved to be as kind as he wrote him.