“It is said that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. That is true, it’s called Life.„

(Terry Pratchett, The Last Continent)

 

Sir Terry Pratchett passed away today. I couldn’t believe it as I read about it.  As far as I knew he was battling with early-onset Alzheimer’s disease and I knew the day of his passing will come inevitably, but I didn’t think this day would be today.

I first found out about the writings of Pratchett when I was visiting a friend of mine about fifteen years ago. This friend was an musician and loved good books, especially Sci-Fi and Fantasy. He always has been a little bit of an elitist, which wasn’t bad in this case, because I knew he really wanted to enrich peoples lives by telling them how awesome some authors and their books were. So, I stopped by at his house where he lived with his two brothers (and every one of them is sort of a genius, but not in the same speciality). He didn’t answer the door, but his two younger brothers did (imagine them as Fili and Kili at Bag End, the fun-loving, excited brothers). They were all over me, because they got a new Videogame and they wanted me to join in, so I tagged along. We played a Japanese arena-fighting-game and had really much fun – so much that I almost forgot about the eldest brother. Almost. I asked them where he was and the youngest one said that he had bought a new PC-game and that he hadn’t left his room for days. I was getting curious, because he usually was inseparable from his brothers and even more so from his instrument. A very friendly, sociable guy. So, this was atypical behavior. We sent the youngest one as scout and waited in the hall. As he came back he told us that it is safe to enter.

My friend was sitting in front of his PC, hadn’t shaved for days and looked like a scruffy, but nonetheless likable mess. The room was filled with the smell of week-old smoke from the cigarettes he was consuming, one by one. There were several empty coffee-cups, but no plates. „Dude, did you even eat? Anything?“ said the second-oldest brother. He just smiled tiredly. The brother rolled his eyes and said he’ll get Pizza for all of us and went away, he took the youngest with him. So it was me and my friend alone. „What are you playing?“ He looked at me with his mockingly elitist-facial-expression: „Don’t you know? Discworld Noir!“ „Oh!“ „Not ringing any bells?“ „Nope!“  He threw his hands in the air dramatically. I just smirked. „Sit down!“ He made me sit down beside him and I watched him while he was playing the game, but it wasn’t too long before his brothers returned with the Pizza from the take-away-restaurant two streets away. They started briefing me on Sir Terry Pratchett, his writings and the Discworld. It sounded great, but I had a lot to do and to learn for my final exams at arts school, so I didn’t immediately buy a book by him.

But about half a year later I was standing in a bookstore, browsing for something new to read. As always I checked the „Fantasy“ – category first. There it was: „The Colour of Magic“. I remembered what my friends told me: That this one was the first one, the introduction to the Discworld. I bought it. I read about Rincewind, Twoflower and The Luggage. I was laughing so hard that tears rolled down my cheeks. For the first time since reading The Lord of the Rings I couldn’t stop reading a book until I had finished it. I was back at the bookstore the very next day. And bought every Pratchett-book they had (there were just three). I felt like I had found a treasure of fantasy, imagination, loveable characters, fantastic landscapes and weird stories – and I was right.

Sir Terry Pratchett had besides Tolkien and Michael Ende the biggest influence on me regarding my wish to become an author and writer myself. I saw what was possible.

May he Rest in Peace. I like to believe that he’s somewhere up there in the sky, in space – in the world on the back of four elephants, standing on the back of Great A-Tuin. Discworld. Floating forever through our minds, dreams and imaginations. He’ll be never forgotten but forever missed. Farewell, Master-storyteller, wordsmith and builder of great worlds. May you meet all your characters up there – and don’t forget to send us a shooting star full of humour from time to time. The world needs it. Desperately.