The universe could have been created ugly, and would have functioned. And yet there is beauty everywhere in creation. Beauty gives us an ache, to be worthy of that creation.
Mary Oliver (1935-2019) American poet
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I had a dream last night that I was on a balcony, leaning on the railing, but the balcony looked out over space and I was watching the creation of the Discworld. Not the writing of the books but the literal creation of the Discworld. Great A’Tuin and the elephants and the Disc were coming together right before my eyes.
And then someone yelled something like “Come inside, it’ll look after itself for the first few million years” and I went inside to find Terry Pratchett in this enormous room that was like a library colonized a ballroom. It had no furniture, just wide overlapping Turkish-style rugs all over the floor. The walls were floor-to-ceiling bookcases but mostly it was a big open space where you could “create” a visual version of a story and it would appear in miniature on the rugs.
And Pratchett was there, just calmly sitting on a rug and laying out the entire multi-book storyarc of Sam Vimes, which looked like little buildings popping up to symbolize events and light tracings moving between them to indicate some kind of relationship. I think he’d only got to the end of Men At Arms, maybe the start of Feet Of Clay, when I woke up, but what I did get to see was awesome.
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