STICKY Sad News for us all.
- Thread starter Tonyblack
- Start date
A new tribute in East London:
http://www.standard.co.uk/news/london/s ... 53232.html
It's brilliant the way people are coming up with their own ways to express how they feel.
http://www.standard.co.uk/news/london/s ... 53232.html
It's brilliant the way people are coming up with their own ways to express how they feel.
Who's Wee Dug said:
Found these on Twitter from different people, with one complementing the other the written tribute Ithink is excellently done.
Here is a beautiful tribute to Terry, written in something of his own style, by Gil Jaysmith. #RIPTerryPratchett
Gil Jaysmith
He asked them for a few minutes alone to enjoy the afternoon sun, and with a brief hug and a squeeze of the hand they left him. His hat brim was low as he settled back into the chair, surveying his garden with satisfaction. Those azaleas were still looking a bit morose, practically chewed-on, frankly, but everything else was gearing up for the explosion of life which would catapult Spring into Summer before it had quite gotten its bearings. There had been a mild cold breeze a few minutes ago, but he had understood that to be a fact of life. Or rather...
"MR PRATCHETT."
"I knew you were there. Thank you for waiting until the others left."
"A FEW MINUTES HERE AND THERE ARE PERFECTLY WITHIN THE RULES, I'VE FOUND."
"Well exactly. If you can't stretch the rules, they're not rules, they're..."
Death waited helpfully.
referring to this
"... well, anyway. It's a lovely day for it, isn't it?"
"I BELIEVE THAT COULD BE SAID."
There was a pause.
"I was wondering if you'd show up."
"IN THIS UNIVERSE I DO. I'M INFORMED THAT THERE ARE SOME IN WHICH I DO, AND OTHERS IN WHICH I DON'T. IN SOME OF THE FORMER, WE HAVE THIS CONVERSATION, OR ONE LIKE IT. IN SOME OF THE LATTER, PEOPLE IMAGINE THE CONVERSATION ANYWAY."
"That sounds very..."
Death waited patiently. "QUANTUM?" he supplied after a while.
There was another pause, rooted in, Death perceived, mild frustration.
"I'M SORRY," Death said. "I STEPPED ON YOUR PUNCHLINE."
"Oh, no, no, that's alright. Better that than the joke dying. I'm more concerned about your horse stepping on my flowerbeds, to be honest."
"BINKY," Death said reprovingly. "DO NOT EAT THE AZALEAS."
"It certainly explains why they've always been slow to flower. I suppose his necromorphic field ripples through time from this point, so the flowers have always felt a distinct sensation of being gently nibbled?"
"I'M AFRAID I DON'T KEEP UP WITH THE SCIENCE OF MY HORSE," Death said. "SUSAN HAS LOOKED INTO THE MATTER, BUT I PREFER TO WORK WITH PRACTICALITIES, NOT THEORIES."
"Very sensible. I'm like that. Theories are wonderful, but putting a theory into practice is more wonderful. Not just seeding an idea but demonstrating it. Watching the ripples roll out into the world. It's -"
Death waited.
"... er, would you mind...?"
"OH. OF COURSE," said Death, and made a small movement.
"Oh my goodness. That's - that's so much better. Everything's... my brain, you know. It feels like it's come back to me." There were two of him now, one comfortably installed in his garden, and the other standing by Death, looking around, his eyes alight. He was practically fizzing with an internal energy which had been blurred - as if by a few swipes of a pencil eraser - for some years now.
"SOME PEOPLE SAY," said Death, "THAT LOSING YOUR FACULTIES ALONG WITH YOUR CAPABILITIES IS A BLESSING. I HAVE TENDED TO DISAGREE, BUT I WOULD BE INTERESTED IN YOUR THOUGHTS, HAVING SEEN, AS IT WERE, BOTH SIDES NOW."
"Ha! I expect if you asked Susan she would tell you exactly what I think."
"THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID," said Death, and felt confused at the chuckle this comment received.
They stood and surveyed the scene. Binky continued to gnaw on the flowers. The sun beat down with pleasing force. The grass wasn't quite that kind of grass which C.S. Lewis claimed you would find in Heaven, all cut-glass and dangerous to the touch, but it was certainly very green, and a little wild. "This'll need mowing at the weekend. I was going to do it but I suppose..."
Death felt he could address this one small implied request. He passed a skeletal hand gently in front of him, and the grass suffered a very precise amount of instant decay in its uppermost centimetre.
"ARE YOU AFRAID?" he asked after a moment.
"No. Well, yes. It's like going on a roller-coaster. The man who invented the roller-coaster did a wonderful thing, you know. He gave us another tool for interrogating death and how we feel about it. Another way of looking at our fear. And overcoming it, in a small way. That's why they talk about some books as being 'a real roller-coaster ride', I think. Terrifying - but you'll survive, and you'll talk about it for weeks. You can name your fear. And if you can name it, you can understand it."
Another pause.
"Er... not to, you know, interrogate Death, but... shouldn't we be going...?"
Death looked as embarrassed as his features could express, and cleared his throat. "I HAVE A SHORT STATEMENT FROM MY GRAND-DAUGHTER WHICH SHE WISHED ME TO REPEAT TO YOU."
"Oh? Well, say on, fellow."
"YES." Death was unaccustomed to public speaking. "SHE SAID - THAT YOU HAVE DONE US - MEANING SHE AND I - A GREAT SERVICE, BY CLARIFYING THE ROLE OF DEATH IN LIFE. IN INCARNATING DEATH WITHOUT CLOYING SENTIMENT OR FUTILE EXHORTATIONS, YOU HAVE HELPED MANY PEOPLE FACE US WITH DIGNITY, BRAVERY, AND CALMNESS. AND, MORE IMPORTANTLY, YOU HAVE HELPED MANY PEOPLE TO TURN AWAY FROM DARK TEMPTATIONS, AND TOWARDS LIFE, FOR AS LONG AS THEY COULD BEAR. AND EVERY LITTLE HELPS."
"ALSO," he added after a moment, "SHE THOUGHT 'GUARDS, GUARDS' WAS VERY FUNNY, AND YOU SHOULD HAVE WRITTEN THAT ONE FIRST, ALTHOUGH SHE KNOWS IT DOESN'T WORK LIKE THAT."
"I'm... well, I'm flattered that your grand-daughter thinks all that, and please convey my gratitude to her. And my apologies, that I won't be writing any more books. Perhaps someone else will."
"SHE THINKS MANY MORE PEOPLE WILL READ - AND WRITE - MANY MORE BOOKS BECAUSE OF YOU."
A broad smile. "I couldn't ask for a finer epitaph."
The wind gusted suddenly. Binky looked up, smacking his lips.
There were rustling, scampering sounds, and they both looked down.
"SQUEAK?"
"TECHNICALLY, THERE'S NO NEED FOR YOU TO BE HERE," said Death.
"SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK! SQUEAAAAAK!"
"I SEE. WELL, PERHAPS JUST THIS ONCE."
"Oh, I'm not complaining. Hello there!... you know, he looks just like Paul drew him. And Josh too. Which is strange, as they drew him differently. But now..."
Death waited cautiously.
"... oh, don't worry, I'm just caught short for words. I'm marvelling. I will miss you, old friend."
"AND I YOU. BUT WE STILL HAVE A LITTLE WAY TO GO BEFORE WE PART."
"Shall we go then?"
"YES. BINKY? IT'S TIME TO GO."
"SQUEAK!"
"AND YOU TOO."
And for a moment the garden was filled with shadows completely unsuited to the time of day. Shadows of men and women, of witches and wizards, of trolls and gnomes and dwarves of all heights, of vampires and zombies and werewolves, of clockwork marvels and unlikely heroes and dragons and orangutans, of guards and patricians, of royalty and ordinary people and small blue people. And all the shadows bowed their heads, and were silent, and if you had been looking into the garden at this exact moment, you might have suspected this was an optical illusion caused by a particularly dark cloud passing overhead, coinciding with a moment of grave stillness in the breeze. But by the time you looked up, and found to your puzzlement that the sky was still a majestic unspoiled blue, and then looked down to verify what you had seen, the shadows would have gone, and you would have chalked it up to one of those weird little moments which can't be communicated to anyone, and kept it in your mind, a memory with meaning only to you.
And now there was no-one in the garden.
But the world was so, so full.
Here is a beautiful tribute to Terry, written in something of his own style, by Gil Jaysmith. #RIPTerryPratchett
Gil Jaysmith
He asked them for a few minutes alone to enjoy the afternoon sun, and with a brief hug and a squeeze of the hand they left him. His hat brim was low as he settled back into the chair, surveying his garden with satisfaction. Those azaleas were still looking a bit morose, practically chewed-on, frankly, but everything else was gearing up for the explosion of life which would catapult Spring into Summer before it had quite gotten its bearings. There had been a mild cold breeze a few minutes ago, but he had understood that to be a fact of life. Or rather...
"MR PRATCHETT."
"I knew you were there. Thank you for waiting until the others left."
"A FEW MINUTES HERE AND THERE ARE PERFECTLY WITHIN THE RULES, I'VE FOUND."
"Well exactly. If you can't stretch the rules, they're not rules, they're..."
Death waited helpfully.
referring to this
"... well, anyway. It's a lovely day for it, isn't it?"
"I BELIEVE THAT COULD BE SAID."
There was a pause.
"I was wondering if you'd show up."
"IN THIS UNIVERSE I DO. I'M INFORMED THAT THERE ARE SOME IN WHICH I DO, AND OTHERS IN WHICH I DON'T. IN SOME OF THE FORMER, WE HAVE THIS CONVERSATION, OR ONE LIKE IT. IN SOME OF THE LATTER, PEOPLE IMAGINE THE CONVERSATION ANYWAY."
"That sounds very..."
Death waited patiently. "QUANTUM?" he supplied after a while.
There was another pause, rooted in, Death perceived, mild frustration.
"I'M SORRY," Death said. "I STEPPED ON YOUR PUNCHLINE."
"Oh, no, no, that's alright. Better that than the joke dying. I'm more concerned about your horse stepping on my flowerbeds, to be honest."
"BINKY," Death said reprovingly. "DO NOT EAT THE AZALEAS."
"It certainly explains why they've always been slow to flower. I suppose his necromorphic field ripples through time from this point, so the flowers have always felt a distinct sensation of being gently nibbled?"
"I'M AFRAID I DON'T KEEP UP WITH THE SCIENCE OF MY HORSE," Death said. "SUSAN HAS LOOKED INTO THE MATTER, BUT I PREFER TO WORK WITH PRACTICALITIES, NOT THEORIES."
"Very sensible. I'm like that. Theories are wonderful, but putting a theory into practice is more wonderful. Not just seeding an idea but demonstrating it. Watching the ripples roll out into the world. It's -"
Death waited.
"... er, would you mind...?"
"OH. OF COURSE," said Death, and made a small movement.
"Oh my goodness. That's - that's so much better. Everything's... my brain, you know. It feels like it's come back to me." There were two of him now, one comfortably installed in his garden, and the other standing by Death, looking around, his eyes alight. He was practically fizzing with an internal energy which had been blurred - as if by a few swipes of a pencil eraser - for some years now.
"SOME PEOPLE SAY," said Death, "THAT LOSING YOUR FACULTIES ALONG WITH YOUR CAPABILITIES IS A BLESSING. I HAVE TENDED TO DISAGREE, BUT I WOULD BE INTERESTED IN YOUR THOUGHTS, HAVING SEEN, AS IT WERE, BOTH SIDES NOW."
"Ha! I expect if you asked Susan she would tell you exactly what I think."
"THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID," said Death, and felt confused at the chuckle this comment received.
They stood and surveyed the scene. Binky continued to gnaw on the flowers. The sun beat down with pleasing force. The grass wasn't quite that kind of grass which C.S. Lewis claimed you would find in Heaven, all cut-glass and dangerous to the touch, but it was certainly very green, and a little wild. "This'll need mowing at the weekend. I was going to do it but I suppose..."
Death felt he could address this one small implied request. He passed a skeletal hand gently in front of him, and the grass suffered a very precise amount of instant decay in its uppermost centimetre.
"ARE YOU AFRAID?" he asked after a moment.
"No. Well, yes. It's like going on a roller-coaster. The man who invented the roller-coaster did a wonderful thing, you know. He gave us another tool for interrogating death and how we feel about it. Another way of looking at our fear. And overcoming it, in a small way. That's why they talk about some books as being 'a real roller-coaster ride', I think. Terrifying - but you'll survive, and you'll talk about it for weeks. You can name your fear. And if you can name it, you can understand it."
Another pause.
"Er... not to, you know, interrogate Death, but... shouldn't we be going...?"
Death looked as embarrassed as his features could express, and cleared his throat. "I HAVE A SHORT STATEMENT FROM MY GRAND-DAUGHTER WHICH SHE WISHED ME TO REPEAT TO YOU."
"Oh? Well, say on, fellow."
"YES." Death was unaccustomed to public speaking. "SHE SAID - THAT YOU HAVE DONE US - MEANING SHE AND I - A GREAT SERVICE, BY CLARIFYING THE ROLE OF DEATH IN LIFE. IN INCARNATING DEATH WITHOUT CLOYING SENTIMENT OR FUTILE EXHORTATIONS, YOU HAVE HELPED MANY PEOPLE FACE US WITH DIGNITY, BRAVERY, AND CALMNESS. AND, MORE IMPORTANTLY, YOU HAVE HELPED MANY PEOPLE TO TURN AWAY FROM DARK TEMPTATIONS, AND TOWARDS LIFE, FOR AS LONG AS THEY COULD BEAR. AND EVERY LITTLE HELPS."
"ALSO," he added after a moment, "SHE THOUGHT 'GUARDS, GUARDS' WAS VERY FUNNY, AND YOU SHOULD HAVE WRITTEN THAT ONE FIRST, ALTHOUGH SHE KNOWS IT DOESN'T WORK LIKE THAT."
"I'm... well, I'm flattered that your grand-daughter thinks all that, and please convey my gratitude to her. And my apologies, that I won't be writing any more books. Perhaps someone else will."
"SHE THINKS MANY MORE PEOPLE WILL READ - AND WRITE - MANY MORE BOOKS BECAUSE OF YOU."
A broad smile. "I couldn't ask for a finer epitaph."
The wind gusted suddenly. Binky looked up, smacking his lips.
There were rustling, scampering sounds, and they both looked down.
"SQUEAK?"
"TECHNICALLY, THERE'S NO NEED FOR YOU TO BE HERE," said Death.
"SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK! SQUEAAAAAK!"
"I SEE. WELL, PERHAPS JUST THIS ONCE."
"Oh, I'm not complaining. Hello there!... you know, he looks just like Paul drew him. And Josh too. Which is strange, as they drew him differently. But now..."
Death waited cautiously.
"... oh, don't worry, I'm just caught short for words. I'm marvelling. I will miss you, old friend."
"AND I YOU. BUT WE STILL HAVE A LITTLE WAY TO GO BEFORE WE PART."
"Shall we go then?"
"YES. BINKY? IT'S TIME TO GO."
"SQUEAK!"
"AND YOU TOO."
And for a moment the garden was filled with shadows completely unsuited to the time of day. Shadows of men and women, of witches and wizards, of trolls and gnomes and dwarves of all heights, of vampires and zombies and werewolves, of clockwork marvels and unlikely heroes and dragons and orangutans, of guards and patricians, of royalty and ordinary people and small blue people. And all the shadows bowed their heads, and were silent, and if you had been looking into the garden at this exact moment, you might have suspected this was an optical illusion caused by a particularly dark cloud passing overhead, coinciding with a moment of grave stillness in the breeze. But by the time you looked up, and found to your puzzlement that the sky was still a majestic unspoiled blue, and then looked down to verify what you had seen, the shadows would have gone, and you would have chalked it up to one of those weird little moments which can't be communicated to anyone, and kept it in your mind, a memory with meaning only to you.
And now there was no-one in the garden.
But the world was so, so full.
What can you say to that, except... 
Terry's work touched us all to a greater or lesser degree. I started writing fantasy 20 years ago now, but I found that my writing has turned more and more satirical thanks to Terry's influence (and Doug's too - that's Doug Adams).
I've published a few biographies over the years. I now have a couple of books ready for the publisher. Now I need to find a publisher.
Thank you, Terry, for the inspiration.
Terry's work touched us all to a greater or lesser degree. I started writing fantasy 20 years ago now, but I found that my writing has turned more and more satirical thanks to Terry's influence (and Doug's too - that's Doug Adams).
I've published a few biographies over the years. I now have a couple of books ready for the publisher. Now I need to find a publisher.
Thank you, Terry, for the inspiration.
