If you haven’t already read the tribute to Terry Pratchett by his daughter Rhianna that was posted over the weekend, drop everything and read it now. It’s moving, and brilliant, and gives you a renewed appreciation for one of fantasy’s best authors.
Here’s my favorite bit:
Dad was someone who committed to the narrative of a situation rather more than the practicality. So he would wrap me up and take me out of bed in the middle of the night to show me the glow-worms in the hedge or Halley’s Comet blazing across a star-filled sky. For him, his daughter seeing these marvels of nature was much more important than sleeping, which I could do any time. He didn’t teach me magic, he showed me it.
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