I am completely devastated. Sir Terry Pratchett, who has been my hero for more than two decades, died today, and I am blubbering as if I've lost my father.
I've always loved writing, but I didn't think there was a place in the world for my stories until I read my first Discworld novel. Over the years, I've read a lot, but in times of trouble I always end up rereading the Discworld series. I feel like I know the streets of Ankh-Morpork better than I know the house I grew up in, and the characters are more family to me than my actual relatives.
I've written and rewritten this post a dozen times because everything is wrong.