It is a sad day in the literary world to loose one of our great authors. Sadly, as much of a fantasy fan as I am, I have never read any Prtachett. I plan to rectify that as soon as possible.
May this great author be one with the Force.
When I started reading gobs and gobs of books as a child, a lot of people asked me if I wanted to be a writer. After a few months of introspection and a terribly failed attempt, I realized that I did not want to be a writer at all. At least not a writer of the kinds of books that I was so enamored with as a child. Promote library activities in press releases? Sure. Share my opinion of a few great books? Absolutely. But write one of those great books? Not a chance.
No, authors are a breed unto themselves, hallowed by all for letting us live in their heads, if only for a short time. They are gatekeepers and guides to the imagination. They safeguard the way, protecting it for all. And they provide guidance through the dangerous misty corners in which a hero’s adventures help…
View original post 382 more words