He is the man that turned a world into a disc, put it on the backs of four (used to be five) elephants, and then put THEM on the back of a giant turtle swimming throughout the cosmos. He did this, but still made you think about the issues facing Earth while reading about this world that was nothing like our own, yet somehow made us view ours differently.
He is the one who made me imagine a man in wet copper armor standing proudly on the top of a hill shouting at the top of his lungs that "ALL GODS ARE BASTARDS!" and being potentially struck by lightning.
He is the man who made me write, and not just the dark gritty SciFi and the High Fantasy stuff I thought was the best, he is the man who made me create sometimes ridiculous worlds, and fill them with characters who make you laugh and look inward all at once.
He is the man that I fought tooth and nail for a chance to go see in person.
I saw him, and in a brief moment of clarity he saw me, I never thought I would have a more memorable moment than when he answered my previously submitted question. Then I came home. Sir Pratchett suffers from Posterior Cortical Atrophy, as I learned from one of his documentaries it is a rare case of Alzheimers in which he can fill a cup with tea, place it on his counter, turn around, and when he turns back he doesn't see the cup anymore. It did not move, it is still there, he just literally no longer sees it. Because of this he no longer recognizes social cues, if you wave at him, he will not see it, it is one of the many reasons why he rarely saw fans at readings after his 'embuggerance' began to affect him.
I took photos that night, lots of photos to remember being in the presence of a master of writing.
Most photos were like this:
He is talking and looking at his assistant. But as I filtered through them to post them to my Facebook I found this one:
I may have just described his condition to you, but to me, I had learned everything I could about this man and his disease, so this photo floored me, like absolutely gobsmacked. A joke was said, I was laughing with the camera in front of my face taking pictures, and he saw me, he looked right at my camera, and I caught it.
Today I learned this man had to cancel an appearance in the UK at a convention because of his embuggerance has caught up with him. As a man who has adamantly refused to allow his disease to claim him, desiring only to accept death on his own terms, this can only mean one thing.
This man is getting ready to sit in his backyard on his own terms and greet death warmly with a handshake.
The day is coming when this man will no longer walk this Earth.
I do not look forward to this day.
I will never look forward to this day.
But I know it is coming and that is a comfort.
I will grieve for this man, harder than I would have thought, and it will affect me profoundly.
I suspect my future writings will include a man in all black, with a dry wit, and piercing eyes.
