Dear Sir Terry Pratchett,
I was recently told that you are going to die. As someone who is also going to die I would like to take this opportunity to share a few words of appreciation. I hope that this letter reaches you before either of us are promoted to the rank of ex-person.
1st) Thank you. Thank you for the stories. I was given my first Diskworld novel at the impressionable age of 14. It was a delightful read and I literally tore the book apart. When I say literally, I mean that I returned the book to my best friend with the cover missing, portions of the middle detached from their bindings, and at least several pages just plain vanished.
On more than one occasion I have purchased your latest book the moment it came out for the express purpose of not reading it. Life can be hard sometimes, and I've found there is no better comfort than the worlds you create; worlds presented in primary colors that are so vivid they can make even the greyest reality a whole lot bighter. I've made it a habit to always keep one of your books handy for the hard times because they're cheaper than a shrink and you can always reach them at 2am.
2nd) Thank you. Thank you for the writing. Over the last fifteen years I have read 37 of your books. Taking into account the numerous rereadings, this means that my brain has processed your work at least ten times more than the next closest author. It is hard to say whether this has influenced my sense of humor, but it has clearly influenced my style of writing.
Approximately fourteen hours ago I made the decision to write my first book. This was surprising because I am a highly technical computer security expert and the book, in its current draft, describes a simple, universal technique to understand politics, sex, medicine, sports, and why it is sometimes better to bring a knife to a gun fight. It is impossible to predict if I will finish the book, however, it is reassuring to know that should I succeed in the writing but fail in the publishing, it might not be entirely my fault.
3rd) Thank you. Thank you for demonstrating that just because something is serious doesn't mean it can't be funny. I read a copy of your speech to the Alzheimer's Society while supporting the woman I love through the challenges of living with a mother and father who had moderate dementia and advanced alzheimers, respectively. I do not hesitate to say that of all your work, that speech has had the most immediate and lasting effect on me.
I hope that I will have the opportunity (many, many years from now) to face my end with no less courage and conviction than you have shown while facing yours. Coincidentally, I also hope that I have the opportunity to fake my death shortly beforehand so I can officiate at my own funeral to ensure that the only people wearing black are angsty teenagers and the only people crying are the ones who are laughing too hard.
With the kindest regards, the utmost respect, and the growing urge to make breakfast,
Satire is the least flattering form of sincerity.