An Open Letter to Terry Prachett

Dear Mr. Prachett,

Let me start by saying I'm sorry. Or rather, let me start by saying I'm sorry to myself. I was one of some 150 people at a speaking/signing you held on Saturday September 24th, in the year of "our" Lord 2005. It is doubtful you remember me. The afternoon started with you addressing the crowd and taking questions (everything from "How do you pronounce Angua?" to "What does a Hippo sound and like?" and even "What, exactly, is a figgin'?"). I, of course, did not ask any questions because something like "What is your exact philosophy on the nature of time and multiple dimensions in relation to "Nightwatch" and "thief of Time" seemed a little inappropriate for the occasion.

After the interactive portion of the event was over all those in attendance lined up so that we could secure your precious autograph on our coveted copies of your various works. Being under the assumption you would only be signing your newest book I did not, in fact, bring any of the number of other things I would have given my left index finger to have you sign (but since I still have said finger, perhaps that was for the best). As was already mentioned, roughly 150 were there to wait in line and I was lucky number 128.

It was not until around 5:00 (three hours after you were first introduced to us) that I (with my supportive wife in tow) finally made our way up to you. It was at just about this point that my tongue stopped functioning. Or possibly it was momentarily transported to some dark dungeon dimension because I don't even remember feeling it waggling around inside my mouth. I am fairly certain I was able to mumble a "hello" or some odd equivalent. And while I don't remember speaking my name, I certainly must have because the correct name is indeed inside the two books you signed for me.

And so, roughly 15 seconds later my brush with greatness was at an end. My wife wondered why in the world I didn't actually speak to you, as you obviously had no problem conversing with others who sought your signature. All I can say is that the experience was so surreal that even now, two days later, I have a problem remembering the specifics.

And in all honesty, how do you tell someone whom you've idolized for a number of years that he is the reason you wanted to become a writer? Sure, it sounds nice to think it, or even write it down, but too actually say it sounds a bit...well...stupid.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know, Mr. Pratchett, that I wasn't being rude. And if I ever get the chance again I will certainly try to ask a squeaky voiced question or two. Or at least, I'll try to try.

Thanks for everything,
the cheese

p.s. Seeing as how I will be at a similar event this Saturday for Neil Gaiman, I have decided to write out some questions/witty banter ahead of time...