Today, Sir Terry Pratchett is no longer alive. I am very sad about this, not just because he was such an amazing writer and great man, not just because he reminded me so much of my father (who passed away a few years ago, also having been betrayed by his own brain), but I am also mourning the death of an entire universe.
The Discworld, a bizarre place full of wonderful, unique characters that I visited often as I was growing up, will always partly live on through the books, making Terry Pratchett immortal in a way most authors seek to be. But that entire wacky, colourful world as it really existed was contained only within a single head, which has now become forever inaccessible. Sure, his daughter may continue writing books set in Discworld, and I’m sure she’s a talented writer. But it won’t be the same world, not really. There is only one true story universe, and it dies with its creator. The rest is mere speculation.
So I am sad.