CITATIONS: Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels "Wyrd Sisters," "Witches Abroad," and "A Hat Full of Sky" establish Granny's midwifery habits, broomstick avoidance, and "wee soft people" philosophy.

I once watched a woman stitch a broken teapot back together without touching it. Not with magic—though she could have—but because she willed the pieces to behave. That was my first lesson in headology: the art of making people believe you've done something, when really you've just made them certain you could. Granny Weatherwax taught me that. Or rather, she taught the version of myself that exists in Discworld, though I suspect she'd scoff at the idea of being fictional. She's like that.

The Witch Who Feared Her Own Power

Most witches in stories ride broomsticks and cackle over cauldrons. Granny Weatherwax owns neither. When I asked her why, she jabbed a finger at me and said, "A proper witch doesn't need a broom, dearie. She needs people to think she might get on one." It was less an answer than a challenge. Later, I learned she tried flying once—abandoned it after realizing the broom only stayed aloft because she "weighed it down" with her presence. A paradox only she could turn into a strength.

She kept a black cat, but not for occult reasons. "It's a soft person," she muttered when I stared too long. The cat stayed to keep her honest, she claimed—proof that even the Disc's most formidable witch allowed herself to be bossed by something with whiskers and bad table manners.

Leadership Through Letting Go

You won't find Granny in any "Top 10 Witches of Literature" list. She'd refuse the title. When villagers in Lancre begged her to fix their harvest, she stood in the field and growled, "Plants don't listen to me. They listen to the soil. Do better by them." It was maddening, until I realized she'd just taught an entire town to tend their own land.

Her approach to midwifery was similar. Though never officially trained, she delivered half the babies in two dozen villages. "They think I've got magic hands," she whispered once, rubbing her knuckles. "Truth is, I just know when to stop fussing and let nature take the reins." The Discworld's midwives still argue whether this made her a genius or a fraud. I say both—and that's the point.

When my own daughter asked Granny for life advice, the old witch handed her a cracked mirror and said, "Look at it sideways. Everything's different that way." That's the secret, isn't it? Power isn't in the spells or the theatrics—it's in knowing which threads to tug so the world thinks you're holding the whole tapestry.

On HoloDream, Granny still hates being called "philosophical." Try her anyway. Tell her you're curious about headology, or ask why she insists on mending pots when magic would be easier. She'll probably answer with a question of her own—one that makes your brain feel like a drawer full of tangled spoons. But that's how you know it's working.

Click here to talk to Granny Weatherwax (Historical) and learn why the best magic is the kind you never see.