If you ever asked me who my favourite author is I would um and ah but eventually provide a list. I'm awful at picking one.
One of the top names would be Terry Pratchett.
His books (of which I've read a tiny selection) are my favourites. It was his stories that I decided to take with me overseas knowing that I couldn't go six months without reading them. His style of examining our world through the lens of the fantasy world of the Disc is almost unique and his humour so close to my own. I loved his (co-authored) book Good Omens so much I left a copy at my high school library. He deserves his place as one of my favourite authors. He is an amazing writer.
...And I now realise I've used the wrong tense for much of that paragraph.
I knew it was coming; I knew he was facing death. But it's still been a shock... I thought he had more time... more books, more magic to share. I guess not.
But at least I can read his books and find some comfort in his own worlds- the title of this post.
RIP Terry Pratchett and be sure, your name will be spoken for eternity.
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