In 1996 I picked up a book from the library shelf which changed my life. It was called The Colour of Magic.
I had seen books with similar covers dotted around our house, and asked my Dad whether he had any of Terry Pratchett’s other novels. It turned out he had them all; faithfully buying each new paperback as they were released. He has rather fewer now as my brother and I have made off with easily half of his collection, but I like to think that he considers it a fair price for having instilled a love of Terry Pratchett’s work in his children.
Pratchett’s work informs another important relationship in my life, as he is one of the few fiction authors whose works the Technician will read, and a shared love of his stories and characters was foundational to our growing relationship and subsequent marriage.
Today a very sad series of tweets crossed my timeline:
We all knew that this day would inevitably come, and yet hoped, somehow, that it never would.
LORD, WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT FOR THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN? – Reaper Man
RIP Sir Terry Pratchett.