It’s a big anniversary for me today, so rather than rant about NaNoWriMo or the popular culture, or putting up a short story (I actually did that last week, there’ll be another one soon, I promise), I’m going to delve into a bit of my past.
I live through narrative, I like to tell the stories of my past and my family. Ask me about my father’s mannequins, about Arnold the pigeon, our history of strange pets or even my love of comics and I’ll tell you it all. Ask me about the craft of writing, the history of the Legion of Super-Heroes, why Gilmore Girls is one of the best televisions or why I hate owls and I’ll be there with a rant for you.
This is something I don’t tend to go into, and generally would rather not. I had a realisation earlier this year that this was going to be the twentieth anniversary of something fairly big and heavy, that my choice to try and be a bit more physically active was kind of a good full stop on it. So here’s a look into the twentieth anniversary of my back surgery.