Thursday morning had progressed like any other Thursday. I was sitting at work, blinking to keep myself awake as the caffeine from my Doctor-flavored, carbonated beverage seeped into my bloodstream and waiting for something that I could work on to present itself. As is so often the case, I found my internet-surfing digits institutionally manipulating my mouse and clicking over to Twitter where I would certainly find myself bombarded by the typical non-news, food pics, and meme sharing that I could tolerate for a few moments before being able to pull myself away. Today, however, would prove to be different.

It skipped past me almost unnoticed, as it was quickly pushed off the screen by silly pictures of someone's dog, and a whimsical blog post about something internety. The name just managed to catch my eye, and an accompanying link to something on the BBC's website. "Ooh!" I thought, as I clicked the link into another tab, and didn't think about it for a little while. A few minutes and a few more new tabs later, and I glanced up to see the name again, although now chopped off: "BBC NEWS - Sir Terry Pratche..." "Maybe there's a new book coming out, or... I dunno something?" I wondered as I clicked over to read the article. I was wrong.

The actual contents of the article sent a shock through me. I sat, stunned, for fully 20 minutes before I was able to scroll down, past the headline: "Sir Terry Pratchett, renowned fantasy author, dies aged 66" I still haven't been able to bring myself to read through it in it's entirety. I was - and still am - at a loss for what to even think of this terrifying, and terrible new world that I have found myself in.

To try and get an idea for why this loss has devastated me so much, we have to go back a few years to one day in High School. I was complaining about my troubles in finding decent reading materials to a buddy of mine, and - I can almost picture the exact conversation in my head, down to the wry grin, and the subtle cock of his head he gave me as - he responded by saying: "Have you read any Discworld books?"

"Discworld? No... don't think so... is that like Ringworld? I read some of those... didn't get them."

"Nope. Totally different."

I shrugged, and he looked for a minute as if he was going to try and sell me on the virtues of this Discworld of his, but, instead, he shook his head and said: "Hold on."

He rummaged around in his backpack for a minute, digging past unopened textbooks, scraps of papers, and Magic: The Gathering cards before pulling out and handing me a very well-loved copy of Small Gods.

"Here, " he said, as I thumbed through the book, "Read it, tell me what you think."

Then he wandered off to class or wherever it was he was meant to be, and I did the same.

I started reading on the bus-ride home that day, and was glued to the book until sometime around 2 in the morning when I finished the final page, closed the book, and then collapsed into a dreamless sleep. My head already filling up with new ideas and perspectives. I think I even started re-reading it on the way to school the next day, and, when I met up with my friend to give him his book back, he asked: "So?"

To which, I could only reply with eyes-wide: "F---, yes."

I don't like to curse, and I don't do so lightly. The impact was not lost on him.

So began my long love affair with the Discworld. I was now constantly at my library asking them to order books (no one had ever asked for them at that branch before). At the time, Jingo was the latest that had been released, so I had several books to read - out of order, naturally - before I was even close to being 'caught up'.

His writing inspired me to take up writing. It opened doorways and made connections in my brain that absolutely changed the way I perceive the world. It sparked ideas, and has left marks within me that I am still working through to try and truly understand.

I could go on, at great length, until the point where I have completely exhausted all of the words, on the virtues of Pratchett's writing, but, I don't feel like I need to. There are only 2 types of people who would be reading this post. Those who have read his books, and know exactly what I'm going on about, and those who have not. To the former, there's nothing more I can say. To the latter, all I can say is: pick up one of his books, as soon as possible, and start reading. In a way, I kind of envy you. You have more than 40, brand new Terry Pratchett books to experience for the very first time. You have dozens of characters that you have yet to meet, and adventure with. You get to watch Susan come of age and get in touch with her family, Carrot arriving to, and becoming a foundation of the city, the Witches and their adventures and vacations (which are often hard to tell apart), Vimes and his love/hate (but mostly hate) relationship with, well, everything, Rincewind, the most traveled Wizard (or Wizzard?), the body of the University (and their university-sized bodies), and so many, many more... all of which are still new to you, reader. I can only hold on to the memory of starting and finishing a brand new story in the Discworld, there will be no new tales from there for me.

Today, I wanted to take a break in our regular post to share this post with you, our readers. I feel like the throw-away comments and condolences in 140-characters or less that I saw whizzing past on Thursday did not do enough justice to the loss of an absolutely great man.

I hope that each of you can take some time to reflect back on some of the inspiration, joy, or whatever that you have gained from reading something of Pratchett's. Share it with someone, or, if you haven't started yet, well, there's no time like the present.

Sir Terry, your work has made me aspire to tell better stories and build better worlds.

And at the end of all stories, Azrael, who knows the secret, thinks: I REMEMBER WHEN ALL THIS WILL BE AGAIN.