The day was March 12, 2015. I was walking home from work, contemplating the inevitable yet no less heartbreaking news: Sir Terry Pratchett had passed away. Sir Terry represented 50% of my personal writing heroes, so you must understand I was staggered by the gaping hole he left behind in literature and my soul. How could we, as a species, hope to fill this void? How does one person come to be as skilled, intelligent, delightful, and insightful as he was through each of his works?