Another geek icon has left us. Terry Pratchett, best known for his Discworld series, died today at just 66.

I have to confess, I wasn’t a fan. I wasn’t able to get into the Discworld books. That doesn’t mean I can’t recognize how much influence he had on the genre. He melded humor into the fantasy genre so seamlessly that, to be honest, he makes Douglas Adam’s Hitchhiker’s Guide seem clunky. Just because I wasn’t engaged by the story of The Colour of Magic doesn’t mean I couldn’t tell he had talent.

Yes, I’ve been told I should try another one of his books. I just haven’t gotten around to it. When people tell me this or that book is better to start with and start arguing with each other, I tend to move on to another series.

I could also sympathize with him because of the physical issues he was dealing with. My condition is nowhere near as debilitating, but requiring assistance to just live is . . . well, a difficult adjustment. And he kept at it; he continued writing via dictation, and kept attending conventions until last year. That’s impressive, and definitely the sign of someone who loved being a storyteller.

Godspeed, Sir Pratchett.