Kirsty Bosley: 'The End' for Terry but not for his words and wisdom

I can't imagine there to be a writer alive that wouldn't describe themselves as a reader first and foremost.

My own favourite authors have enriched my life beyond measure, offering guidance, amusement, fast friendships and tutelage via small ink letters.

The lifelong love affair that I enjoy with words began at a young age, in a library. In our little single-parent family, books were my escapism.

It started with the My Naughty Little Sister books by Dorothy Edwards. As I got a bit older, I never forgot the books that had absorbed so many chunks of my life, and gathered more and more favourites as I went.

I devoured stories by Enid Blyton and Chuck Palahniuk, Sylvia Plath and more, and each of them has, in some way, affected me forever.

One book series gave me more than any other. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone was published in 1997, but it wasn't until the first four of the seven books were in my local library that I began to read them.

I was instantly hooked. Growing up, we didn't have a great deal and I was left to amuse myself. Many of my school friends went on holidays, trips to theme parks or drives out into the countryside.

We didn't, instead staying very much in the confines of our little council house. I've said it before, but the library was my go-to place.

For me, it wasn't just one place. With the check-out of the Harry Potter books, I was transported, as though by broomstick, to far-flung places in magical lands.

I learnt about people that didn't exist from family backgrounds that never were. I was taught about the plights of minorities in a complex way that I didn't appreciate until I got older and experienced more of the world.

When I've felt sad, I've read the books to cheer me up. When I have felt frightened, I have read them to soothe me, and when I have felt happy, I have read them (particularly the Christmas chapters) to buoy me.

JK Rowling's words in ink on paper have been my most loyal, long-serving friends. Hogwarts – the literary school where Harry Potter lived – is always there to welcome me home when I pick up my copy; it's the only happy home I think I've ever had.

To quote Harry's headmaster and mentor Dumbledore: 'Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it'.

I honestly believe this to be true. I'm reminded daily of the series (I have a few HP tattoos) and all of the wonderful things I derived from the seven books. People have laughed at them before now, with one reader asking 'is this all you can say about your life? That you loved a children's book?!'

It isn't, but what those books mean to me is more complex than just words on a page.

And as the world mourns the loss of Terry Pratchett, I can go some way to understanding just why it's so painful a loss for so many.

But his most inexhaustible source of magic will live longer than any human could ever hope to, and we must take joy in that.