Mort

I don't know quite what to say here. I found out earlier today that Sir Terry Pratchett has died. Terry passed away in his home, with his cat sleeping on his bed surrounded by his family.

I found out as I was walking through Glasgow after a meeting, on my way to the train - and I cried. I phoned my mum, sobbing. I never thought I'd get so sad about someone I didn't know.

Except I did know him. At my first writing class I was asked who my favourite author was - I had two; Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. I announced that I simply couldn't live without the Discworld.

I came to the Discworld very late. For some reason, I'd never wanted to read the books. It was a severe misjudgement. I finally decided to give them a go in my late 20s and so began my love affair. I'm currently reading number 39, Snuff, at the moment. There are only 40.

The characters feel like friends, Sir Terry felt like a friend. I had the absolute pleasure to see him at the Edinburgh Festival last year - I described it as the perfect evening. He was a great man, one of my heroes, who will live in my thoughts as long as I am alive.

So today, Terry finally met DEATH and his hourglass. I'll leave you with two tweets from his Twitter feed today:

Terry took DEATH's arm and followed him through the doors and on to the black desert under the endless night.

The End.