Terry Pratchett was a genius. I’m just glad as all get-out that we didn’t wait until today, the day of his death, to figure that out or let him know posthumously. I’m glad that we, the reading public, got to tell him every day for the last few decades. And I hope that of all the things bloody Alzheimers took from him, it never took that. Because he deserved every accolade heaped upon him — especially the ones he wasn’t awarded because he was ‘too popular’ or ‘too commercial’ or too ‘whatever’ for the folk who take it upon themselves to hand out the little gold statues.

I’ve been asked by Booktopia to do a guest post about Terry Pratchett and his work, so I won’t pre-empt myself on that. What I will say is that I was incredibly, unbelievably privileged to experience Terry’s brilliance in a way few others ever enjoyed. That’s partly what I’ll be talking about in the guest post, which I’ll link to in due course. It was pure serendipity that I had that experience and it’s one I’ll treasure forever.

There is nowhere else in fiction remotely like the Discworld. It is a creation of extraordinary intellect and philosophy and humanity. Just as there was only one William Shakespeare, there will only ever be one Terry Pratchett. Now please, please, please, can somebody re-release all his work in hardcover editions with the original Josh Kirby covers? A few of mine are falling apart.

Thanks, Terry. You made my world a better place.