Nobody ever taught me to write. No one ever told me what I was doing wrong. My first novel was published by the first publisher I sent it to. And so I’ve been learning as I go, and I find it now rather embarrassing that people beginning the Discworld series start with The Colour of Magic and The Light Fantastic, which I don’t think are some of the best books to start with. This is the author saying this, folks. Do not start at the beginning with Discworld.
The books I’m really most proud of having written are the children’s books. It was brought home to me today when I was talking to the kids, why this is. They started asking about the turtles. Then they continued asking about the turtles. And I said, “Okay, no turtle questions.”
They said: “Okay, well, about the elephants then …”
The thing is that when you write for kids you have to be more precise. You have to answer the questions. You can’t leave people hanging around. You can’t rely on them filling in too many gaps for themselves. But kids are also remarkably astute about narrative these days. They’ve got plot savvy. I remember my daughter watching a movie many years ago, she was about eight or nine perhaps, and it was an action-adventure and she said, “That black guy is going to survive.”
And this is about a third of the way through, and we knew it was that kind of movie where lots and lots of people are going to get killed. And I said, “How do you know it’s going to be him?”
“That guy’s going to survive, and that woman’s going to survive, and the black guy is going to survive because the other black guy got killed earlier.” Actually she was wrong, but her reasoning was spot-on. Already she had been working out how plots work, and lots of bright kids are doing that. So it really stretches me to write the children’s books. You have to stay ahead of them.
I think I have probably done great harm to the world of fantasy. Fortuitously, although I’m not very cerebral about what I write, lots and lots of people are doing theses and doctorates on me. So, apparently, I’m a postmodern fantasy writer. I think this is because I’ve got a condom factory in Ankh-Morpork. Admittedly, the troll that does all the packing wonders what the women are laughing about when he is packing the “Big Boys.” But you cannot imagine a condom machine in Middle-earth. Well, actually, I can, regrettably. But you certainly can’t imagine one in Narnia, and nor should you. But the curious thing is Ankh-Morpork can survive this. Ankh-Morpork does survive most things.
I was told one day, by a fan in the business, that I could get a coat of arms.
I said, “Could it have hippos on either side of it like the Ankh-Morpork one?” “No, you can’t do that; you have to be either the Queen or a city.” I said, “Well, I’m personally not a city so I can’t, but I could do it anyway, couldn’t I? I mean, what happens if I do it?” “We won’t like it.” So I thought, “This is 2004, I could live with that.” But he really wasn’t impressed with the city motto of Ankh-Morpork: “Quanti canicula ille in fenestra” which does translate very nicely as “How much is that doggie in the window?”
Anyway, once the shuttle is flying again there are secret plans afoot to get the mission patch from The Last Hero on board it somewhere. I suspect that the Latin motto, when translated, reads “We who are about to die, don’t want to.” My contact tells me the astronauts would have no problem with that.
It has been tremendous fun. It’s made me a lot of money. I wish I was a real author. I truly do. I haven’t thought a great deal about what I’ve done. I’ve gone ahead and done it. It comes as a huge shock to read these theses, that sneak in at a rate of one every month or two, and find out about my wonderful use of language and the cleverness with which I do these things. I think “Nah!” I just do it because that’s what it’s like … That bit goes there because it’s impossible to imagine it going in any other place. And then they go and make me a Guest of Honour. There are far, far better authors out there, folks. But I thank you very much for reading this one. It has been tremendous fun. Discworld is twenty-one years old next month, which kind of means something in England, even now. Once upon a time, it was when you were allowed to drink. But now you are officially allowed to drink at the age of about eight years old, although here in the United States you have to be thirty. But, somehow, it means you have come of age.
I am pleased to tell you that my heart is holding out very well, but I now intend to write only one book a year. The trouble is that would give me spare time. My wife pointed out recently that the last time we went on holiday I wrote a quarter of a book in two weeks. Well, it was in Australia. It was great. You’d get up early, the birds were singing, there was a fridge full of cold beer, it was 6 a.m., the sun was out, so I sat and wrote, it was great fun. The place we go to in Australia is a little lodge up in the rain forest, but close to the sea. There are no kids and no dogs. Why not? Because the sharks eat them. If the sharks don’t get you, the saltwater crocodiles will have a go. And if the saltwater crocodiles don’t find you, the box jellyfish will. Come on in, the water’s heaving! We like the place. What we particularly like about it is the tennis court and golf course, because it doesn’t have them.
And I remember our first walk in the rain forest there. You go around the corner and there is a spider the size of the palm of your hand, bouncing in its web going woingggg. And what do you do? Well, you creep round, a long way round, like half a mile round if necessary. And we were climbing up this cliff, holding on to a rope, and it was starting to rain, and I was looking where I put my feet … and there was this big snake strangling a goanna. So I called down to the guide and said, “There’s a snake!” And he said, “What sort?” And I cried out, “I’m halfway up a cliff, it’s raining hard, I’m holding on to a rope, I’m beginning to slip, and I’m not going to play ‘What’s My Snake!’ but I think it’s a kind of python.” “Why do you think it’s a kind of python?” “Because the iguana’s eyes are going out like this … mwaa.” And so he came up and said, “That’s all right, yeah, no worries, kick it into the bushes.” So we prodded it gently into the bushes. And that was my first walk in the Australian rain forest. And from that, The Last Continent came.