Maskerade.
Ah-ha; I will look for that. When I read about his Alzheimer’s diagnosis, I slowed my reading to make it last. There are still Pratchett books that are “new” to me. I shall measure out the experience.
*Going Postal * is an excellent book, generally rated one of his best.
I did the same. I haven’t read anything since Going Postal and now I want to read the rest so bad but I also don’t because that’s it, no more new books. I also wanted to reread but I have all my books packed up so I went looking for the movies they made on some of his books.
I am really broken up about this. I could not function today. At least I know I’m not alone.
I just got into him this year. Fuck. Ook. RIP. 
Four Queens, four ones, and I think it was Maskerade. Granny has been tending a sick woman and persuades Death to take the cow.
There’s a similar scene in Carpe Jugulum, going from memory, where Granny is attending a badly malfunctioning labour and has to choose between saving the baby and saving the mother. Death turns up to take away whichever one she chooses and explains that he cannot tell her which he has come for, because her decision is the determining factor.
XKCD has a wonderful tribute today. Brought tears to my eyes when I read it this morning.
This genius has written up minutes of the Ankh Morpork City Transport Committee as a tribute to Sir Terry.
Perfection. Thanks for sharing.
A commenter, Walthamstow Writer who states he (she) doesn’t know Sir Terry’s style, unknowingly used a footnote in his comment. Fitting.
-
- error + + error + +
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- out of cheese + +
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- error + + error + +
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- words not found + +
I finally found this magnificent short movie that was made for the 2007 “Nullus Anxietas” Australian Discworld convention.
I think that it will serve as a great homage to TP in its own way.
It was a sick baby.
Just found out about this from this thread. A great loss to our world, I assume he’s on the Discworld now to their great gain. Goodbye Terry, and thanks for all the entertainment.
I hope his death wasn’t too horrible. It seemed like the Alzheimer’s hadn’t so much destroyed him yet - he was writing to the end, right?
I am glad there’s another Tiffany Aching novel coming. I’m just a casual fan of Pratchett, but that’s my favorite stuff of his (that I’ve read, of course).
It sounds very peaceful. From the BBC:
“The author died at home, surrounded by his family, “with his cat sleeping on his bed”, he added.”
Didn’t even wake the cat when he left - how considerate 
I dunno. On the Discworld, it always seems to mean trouble when a God actually shows up.
Lawdy I will miss this stuff:
I’m not bothering with context, if you know, you know… Guards! Guards!
Sergent Colon’s archery isn’t what it used to be.
‘Hmm?’ said Colon, who seemed to be in a miserable daydream world of his own.
‘I mean, it’s a good job we’ve got a last desperate million-to-one chance to rely on or we’d really be in trouble!’
‘Oh, yes’ said Nobby sadly. ‘Lucky old us.’
…
Errol has “run away” from the king dragon…
…
I’ve never seen that before’, said Lady Ramkin.’ ‘Dragons normally fight to the death.’
‘At last they’ve bred one who’s sensible,’ said Vimes morosely. ‘Let’s be honest: the chances of a dragon the size of Errol beating something that big are a million-to-one.’
There was one of those silences you get after one clear note has been struck and the world pauses.
The rank looked at one another.
'Million-to-one? asked Carrot nonchalantly.
‘Defininitly,’ said Vimes. ‘Million-to-one.’
The rank looked at one another again.
‘Million-to-one,’ said Colon.
‘Million-to-one,’ agreed Nobby.
‘That’s right,’ said Carrot. 'Million-to-one.
There was another high toned silence.The members of the rank were wondering who was going to be the first to say it.
Sergent Colon took a deep breath.
‘But it just might work,’ he said.
…
Nobby… pointed out out across the plains.
There was a column of black smoke out there.
Vimes squinted. Running ahead of the smoke, speeding over the cabbage fields and closing fast, was a silvery bullet.
The greatdragon had seen it too. It flamed defiance and climbed for extra height, mashing the air with its enormous wings.
Now Errol’s flame was visible, so hot to be almost blue. The landscape rolled away undeneath him at impossible speed, and he was accelerating.
…
And then he was gone, speeding out to sea in eerie silence.
‘He miss–’ Nobby began.
The air ruptured. An endless thundeclap of noise dragged across the city…
<end>
Errol, just a little Whittle.
</end>
OK, that made me tear up.
This art by Farlander seems quite poignant.
Oh, yes, Pterry loved his hats like a Jaegermonster!