Edgar Allan Poe. Father abandoned his family the year after he was born, mother died a year after that. A brilliant writer who earned around $6,000 in his entire career. Was found at the age of 40 on a bench in Baltimore, MD semiconscious, incoherent, and wearing someone else’s clothes. Died 4 days later from unknown causes (probably from either some untreated disease or from a severe beating). Falsely accused by some asshole after his death of being a drunken, depraved lunatic. Only after his death do his works gain the deserved recognition he should have enjoyed during his short lifetime.

As Sterling Archer once pointed out, the “t” is only silent if your valet is parking your car.

Pratchett was a talented writer with a well-developed and nuanced sense of humor, and those are characteristics that are neither sought after nor rewarded by the brain dead executives that green light shows and movies, nor by the lowest-common-denominator consumers they are trying to appeal to.