They're dropping with alarming frequency:
David Eddings dies.
It's been a long time since I desperately read an Eddings series in a week. It's been a long time since I argued with my best friend over marrying Garion or Sparhawk. It's been a really long time since I first picked up a little volume called
Pawn of Prophecy and looked at the cover and said, "...eh, why not?" little knowing that this was going to change my reading habits
forever.
David Eddings mightn't have been the best fantasy author who ever set pen to paper. He was sort of facile and rather predictable and certainly frothy. But he introduced me to modern fantasy, to fantasy as a current and breathing genre, and therefore as something that
I could write. He showed me that it didn't have to be Serious (like Tolkien) but could be Fun. He launched me into it.
Not to mention that if it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't have frolicked my way into alt.fan.eddings, and the experiences and friendships I garnered from that group. That was my first internet community, my first internet friends, my first internet meetup, and it was all just plain brilliant.
So thanks, Mr Eddings. You gave - or rather, helped me discover - a lot. Cheers.