Ouch.
This sucks.
RIP sir! Now to check the Death Pool thread. 
I think he would approve.
BBC.
This is the first time in a long time a celebrity death has hit me like it was a family member.
Celebrity deaths don’t usually bother me. This morning, though- I’m in tears.
66 is so freaking young.
Well, fuck.
iSQUEAK.
yeah.
I don’t usually swear about this kind of thing, but yeah.
Fuck.
It’s not my forum but since I was in the thread I went ahead and changed the thread title to reflect the confirmation.
I just got* Raising Steam*. Part of me says, “Read it right now.” Part of me says, “When you’re done, there’s no more new Pratchett for you, ever.”
Saddened by the news. His was a rare and wonderful talent.
Terrible news. He’s been my favorite author for years.
From fan Nick Mogavero on a Facebook thread:
“I would like my pudding now nurse. And then I think I’d like to… write… something… I don’t remember what.”
Standing in the corner, he waits. The sand slowly flows, but it nears its end. The old man still glows, as thousands of threads spread away from him.
SQUEAK.
I AGREE. IT IS A SHAME TO SEE HIM THIS WAY.
SQUEAK.
NO. I DO NOT KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN… BUT I CANNOT WAIT TO ASK HIM HOW IT ALL ENDS.
The old man looks up, through them at first… and then he sees them. For once, the smile on the hooded figure’s skull is genuine.
“I… I remember you. The anth… ant…”
ANTHROPOMORPHIC PERSONIFICATION.
“Yes, that. We knew each other?”
ONCE. AND WILL AGAIN, SIR.
He so rarely said it, and these feelings… remembering his young aprentice, and beloved daughter. The beautiful child they have.
“There… is a girl, yes?”
SHE IS SPEAKING TO THE AUDITORS, SIR. THEY ARE UNWILLING TO LISTEN.
“Well then. You know what they say, two things you cannot avoid. Taxes and…” He looks into the firey blue eyes, and becomes aware.
SQUEAK.
“Quite right. Is it time already? I have so much left to do.”
YOU HAVE GIVEN ALL YOU CAN SIR.
“No, not cancer. Alzheimers.”
I AM AWARE.
“So, where is the boy? I remember a boy.”
CARRIAGE ACCIDENT.
“Ahh. Never much trusted cars. Or horses.”
THEY GET YOU WHERE YOU WANT TO GO.
“Must I?”
SOON. BUT WE MAY SIT HERE AWHILE.
SQUEAK
DO YOU HAVE ANY BISCUITS?
“No. Shame really.”
YES.
“Is it truely turtles?”
ALL THE WAY DOWN. I HAVE SEEN THEM.
“Ahh. I would love to see it. Perhaps a small trip before?”
IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE.
“The light is slower there… and there’s a monkey…”
ORANGUTAN. SAME PRINCIPLE.
“Yes… will they remember me?”
SQUEAK.
“What was that? I could not hear you.”
HE SAYS WE WILL, SIR.
“I never much liked the trouble people had with you. You seem like a nice fellow.”
I HAVE MY DAYS.
“Don’t we all?”
SOME LESS THAN OTHERS.
“Is it quick?”
YES. AND I BROUGHT THE SWORD. CEREMONY DICTATES IT.
“Ahh. How about a cup of tea?”
I WOULD ENJOY IT. DO YOU PLAY CHESS?
“No. how about checkers?”
And so they sat, two old friends regaling each other, though the old man could not remember all of the details, the cloaked man and his rat filled him in, when it was needed.
Reading this hit me deeper than the simple fact that he has died. Selfish, I know, but true.
He had early-onset Alzheimer’s or something similar, and had long announced his plan to die on his own terms before drifting into the mental abyss. It doesn’t look like he managed it.
My best friend has been going to the disc cons for years. She is literally grieving. She recommended the books to me. If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have likely recognized his name except in passing.
My first thought upon seeing the news can be attributed to the golem: Sorrow.
I hope they’ll publish a Complete Works sooner rather than later.
I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve never read any of his books. To the Kindle store, Robin!