The Death Of Sir Terry

I don’t think I have ever struggled over the title of a blog post before. I tried quite a few words but none seemed to be appropriate.  Words like legend, icon and hero are bandied about too easily. To me Terry Pratchett is all of those and much more. There was a time in my late teens when there was very little happiness in my life. I felt like everything was closing in and crushing me. I read books to escape from reality. There were other authors that shaped my reading habits more, but no other author that has so profoundly changed how I felt. There is nothing as precious as being able to smile when you have nothing to smile about. Terry Pratchett did more than that though. I can remember reading The Colour of Magic on the bus and literally crying with laughter. At that point it was probably the only time I’d had a positive emotion in weeks. For that reason alone I will always remember Pratchett and that book in particular. I went to quite a few Pratchett  signings and every time was greeted by a smiling and humble man that was as excited to meet me as I was him. It didn’t matter if I was first in the queue or last he really knew how to treat his fans. After I demolished a stand of books at a signing in Colchester he called me Pestilence and signed my book accordingly. That made my year. I still treasure that book.

I decided to honour the memory of Terry Pratchett passing in the only way I know. I read. I read something I had been meaning to read for years and never got round to. Volume 1 of The Sandman by Neil Gaiman. I’m not sure how I’ve managed to avoid reading it for so long (I’ll be getting the rest soon enough) but this was a perfect choice for me. Aside from the obvious links Sandman is of course an anthropomorphic personification and that has always been a key for me in Pratchett’s work. I’ll be reading some other stuff over the coming week that I’ve been putting off.

I’ll miss Sir Terry and his work.

 

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