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WOSSNAME - CORRECTION OF ERROR IN PART 2 OF DECEMBER ISSUE

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  • JSCHAUM111@aol.com
    (THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPHS WERE OMITTED FROM THE INTERVIEW TEXT IN PART 2 NUMBER 4 IN THE CURRENT ISSUE) TP: Well, spin-offs tend to... spin off, without any
    Message 1 of 1 , Dec 30, 2005
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      (THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPHS WERE OMITTED FROM THE
      INTERVIEW TEXT IN PART 2 NUMBER 4 IN THE CURRENT ISSUE)

      TP: Well, spin-offs tend to... spin off, without any long-term
      planning. Like the DW stamps, for example; they began as
      a joke for the core fans. And suddenly philatelists around
      the world are collecting them.

      There are no plans for any more stuff, but I've no problem with
      limited spin-off.

      AN: DW spin-off stuff has generally managed to avoid being
      rubbish, so far. Which is quite a feat, considering how much there
      is. Is Where's My Cow? another one that just sort of happened?

      TP: More or less. My editor loved the WMC? sequences in Thud!
      So much that she said "We ought to publish this as a real book!"
      So we did, after I'd expanded it a bit. Melvyn Grant got the pictures
      spot on. I think it's a gem.

      I don't think of things like WMC? and the diaries and maps as spin-off,
      really. They're all part of the whole thing.

      AN: When you first started writing, did you ever imagine that people
      would take your work and do so much stuff with it? Plays, maps,
      guides, quizbooks, boardgames and so forth?

      TP: When I first started writing I didn't think there'd even be a published
      book.

      AN: Did it come as quite a shock, then, when Discworld took off the way
      it did?

      TP: Not in the way you'd think. It didn't take off with a bang, but there
      was
      a thirty-month period towards the end of the '80s when the sales were
      really building, and that was quite heady. I remember sitting in this nice
      cabin in a 747 over the Pacific en-route to a tour of Australia and New
      Zealand and thinking "What happened?" But it was all kind of quiet,
      like it was all some big secret shared with the readers; I didn't get
      much non-genre media until I'd topped the bestseller lists a few times.

      Since I wasn't in the papers, people didn't know what I looked like;
      I remember turning up at one mall signing by myself, walking up to
      the front of the huge queue, and being stopped by a member of staff
      and told to go to the end. So I did, and started signing for the last guy.
      Oh, how we laughed.

      AN: Can you see yourself writing more sci-fi in future, or does it no
      longer interest you?

      TP: No, it's just that the things I want to do right now -- finish
      Wintersmith and get on with Unseen Academicals and Scouting for
      Trolls -- aren't SF.

      AN: Wintersmith, as I'll point out here for anyone who doesn't know,
      is the next Tiffany Aching novel. Do you plan to keep this series
      running, or will it be a trilogy after the fashion of the Johnny Maxwell
      books?

      TP: It will go to four, maybe five. But Johnny, by hallowed children's book
      practice, can stay the same age. Tiffany is growing up.

      AN: Is there anything more you can tell us about Unseen Academicals
      and Scouting for Trolls?

      TP: Er...no.

      AN: Ach. Tease. Well, I've taken up more than enough of your time.
      So, just to finish, here are a couple of questions that I can blame
      other people for.

      In fact, no, I'm not going to ask you that one, it's too dreadful.

      Big Tony, who may or may not have Mafia connections, wants to know
      how on earth you attempt to perform Death's voice when you do readings.

      TP: I don't do voices per se except for Nobby and Fred Colon, sometimes.

      AN: Along with, oh, everyone else, he'd also like to know how those
      carnivorous plants are getting along.

      TP: Oh dear. And you were doing so well up till now.

      AN: See, it was that or "If you could fight any one other author..."

      But it's too late. Terry has already risen from his chair. Smiling
      enigmatically, he turns, making for the inky shadows at the far
      end of this ill-lit warehouse. His left hand rises briefly over his head,
      then slices downward in a swift chopping motion. The ground
      spontaneously erupts, verdant roots boiling from the earth like
      the tentacles of some landlocked Kraken. Pinned in the embrace
      of a botanical nightmare, I can dimly make out the distant figure of
      the author as he mounts the neck of an enormous Venus flytrap,
      which takes off into the night with a sudden, terrifying burst of speed.


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