The end of Discworld

eard the sad news this morning that Terry Pratchett has died.  I’m sure I won’t be the only fan feeling slightly guilty that my first thought was the selfish “but I want more books!”  Even though I’ve known every book since his diagnosis in 2007 could potentially be his last, there’s always been that irrational hope that he’d keep writing forever.  There are still so many stories that need to be told.
Still, I should be grateful that I got to grow up reading his books (I stumbled across The Colour of Magic in my high school’s library in the mid-eighties, and having been devouring his books as fast as they’ve come out ever since – they now fill three shelves of my personal library), that I got to meet him in person several times, at signings and readings both here and in the UK, and that I recently got to inspire a new fan when I introduced my nephew to the Discworld books (which he’s devouring even faster than I did, because he doesn’t have to wait for new books to be published).
Farewell pterry, you’ll be missed.