I took a (cyber) trip to Australia to talk to Dave at the Signal of Doom podcast. We discussed Caped Crusader, the Kraven What If?, my novel Dark Future, and much more. You can listen right here.
Monday, August 31, 2026
Saturday, August 29, 2026
HERE THERE BE DRAGONS!
Dragon Con 2026 is coming up fast. I'll be there Friday, Saturday, and Sunday (September 4th, 5th, and 6th)—meeting fans, signing books and posters, doing panels, and hanging out with my son and daughter, who'll both be around to assist me at my booth. I haven't been to Dragon Con since 2019 and I'm really looking forward to heading back to Atlanta. If you're there, please stop by my table and say hello.
Friday, August 28, 2026
KIRBY DAY 2026
If anyone in the history of comics deserves to be called a genius, it's Jack Kirby: artist, writer, visionary. We all stand on his shoulders.
Like most people too in love with their own opinions, I’m fond of sweeping statements, and one of the sweeping statements I often toss out when the subject of comic books comes up is this: Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, the two formidable talents who forged the Marvel Age of Comics—and, one might argue, all comics that followed—were the Lennon and McCartney of their medium. Rock and roll and comic books were two of my greatest passions growing up and the link has always seemed obvious to me. The Beatles, led by John and Paul, redefined popular music in the sixties, just as Marvel, led by Stan and Jack, redefined comics. (Not that DC was sitting around doing nothing, mind you...any more than Dylan, the Stones and the Who were; but the Beatles and Marvel, at least in this writer’s opinion, were way ahead of the pack.) But all that blew apart when the decade turned.
Those of you too young to have been comics fans in 1970—that tumultuous twelve months of Kent State, student strikes and Richard Nixon’s sweaty upper lip—can’t begin to grasp the impact that three words—”Kirby Is Here!”—had when they appeared on the cover of, believe it or not, Superman’s Pal, Jimmy Olsen. I was sixteen, a devoted Marvel follower, and still naive enough to believe that Lee and Kirby were as inseparable as, well, Lennon and McCartney. Of course 1970 was also the year in which the Beatles publicly disintegrated, as well. “The dream is over,” John Lennon sang—and it certainly was. Across the board. Across the country. The idealism, the optimism, the inspired lunacy of the sixties—which had spread throughout our culture via music, film, novels, and, yes, comics—was beginning to turn sour. Let’s face it: if Stan and Jack, if John and Paul, couldn’t keep it together, what possible chance did the rest of us have? (This sounds incredibly silly now, but, believe me, this was an unbelievably urgent question then. At least to me.)
But the energy and enthusiasm of those years was still pushing us forward and, in some ways, the creative energy of the early seventies surpassed the sixties. Sure, the Beatles were a dead issue, but the music Lennon produced in the years after the split, most notably the brilliant John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band album, was some of the most powerful, important music rock and roll had ever heard. (I told you I was fond of sweeping statements.) And this music was produced as a direct result of Lennon’s boredom with the Beatles, of his pulling away from McCartney’s influence, from the security of success. He danced out on a limb, the limb held, and the result was Art.
The same can be said of Kirby. With Lee, he had taken mainstream comics and turned them inside out, upside down, and left his mark forever (just as he’d already done, in earlier times, with Joe Simon: Kirby, it seemed, never met a revolution he didn’t like). But, as his later Marvel work too clearly showed, he was bored. How many times can the Thing turn against his partners? How often can Loki tiptoe past Odin’s bed and usurp the throne of Asgard? Pretty often—but too often for a restless limb-dancer like Jack Kirby. As with Lennon, Kirby’s vision was unique, singular; and, if his collaboration with Lee (as important to Marvel’s success as McCartney was to the Beatles’; neither man should be underestimated) brought Kirby to new levels, those levels had now been attained, a plateau had been reached, and it was time to move on. Without collaboration. Artists, real artists, tend to burn. When they’ve burned long enough, the smoke starts pouring through their lips and they’ve got to spit the fire out.
In 1970, Jack Kirby jumped from Marvel to DC and started spitting fire. The fire was called The New Gods, Mister Miracle, Jimmy Olsen and Forever People. Books as important to comics as Lennon’s POB album was to rock. Books that opened new doors, set new standards, did things that comics had never dared to do before. New Gods was clearly the most focused, perhaps the best of the bunch; Mister Miracle offered the most flat-out fun; Jimmy Olsen was as wonderfully bizarre, in its way, as those Silver Age stories that featured Jimmy turning into aliens, werewolves and giant turtles. Forever People—which featured Kirby’s cosmic hippies, the embodiment of youth and naivete, idealism and dreams—was my personal favorite; encapsulating, as it did, Kirby’s (and my own) hope for the future. True, the dialogue in these stories was sometimes awkward—but dialogue was never Kirby’s forte. Story-telling was. Spirit was. Vision was. And these stories had them all. They ran, they rambled, they surprised, they exploded. (The language often did the same thing: the dialogue, as noted, may have been clunky, but Kirby’s prose was also so wildly passionate, so utterly idiosyncratic, that it achieved a kind of mad poetic grandeur.)
There seemed no definite beginning, middle, or end; there was just the constant search, the quest for an intangible something that could never be defined. The characters themselves couldn’t be called three dimensional, in the conventional sense, but they existed in a dimension all their own. Orion and Lightray, Scott and Barda, Big Bear, Serafin, Desaad and, perhaps the greatest villain in the history of comic books, Darkseid: these were people that I, as a reader, cared passionately about. I enjoyed their company—and looked forward to their evolution. Unfortunately, for reasons that I’ve never heard adequately explained, that evolution was cut short. With the exception of Mister Miracle (which staggered on for several more issues), all the “Fourth World” titles were axed.
But you can’t kill a dream—and these stories live on, resonating not just through the DC Universe but all of popular culture. The word genius is one that’s often overused, and cheapened by that overuse, but if the comic book business has ever produced a genius, Jack Kirby was it: a genius who taught me that keeping my eyes wide, focused both on the limitless heavens and the infinite universes within the human heart, is the surest way to creating stories that matter.
The “Fourth World” saga was unquestionably Kirby's magnum opus. If you’ve read it before, I urge you to read it again. If you haven’t read it, I urge you to put aside your preconceptions, grab the first volume of the Fourth World Omnibus and surrender to one of the 20th Century’s master storytellers.
©copyright 2026 J.M. DeMatteis
Here's a Kirby tribute I've posted a couple of times before—focusing on Jack's magnum opus, "The Fourth World Saga"—and I post it again in praise of a man whose imagination has inspired generations, and will go on inspiring us for generations to come.
Happy Birthday, Jack—wherever in the cosmos you are!
Like most people too in love with their own opinions, I’m fond of sweeping statements, and one of the sweeping statements I often toss out when the subject of comic books comes up is this: Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, the two formidable talents who forged the Marvel Age of Comics—and, one might argue, all comics that followed—were the Lennon and McCartney of their medium. Rock and roll and comic books were two of my greatest passions growing up and the link has always seemed obvious to me. The Beatles, led by John and Paul, redefined popular music in the sixties, just as Marvel, led by Stan and Jack, redefined comics. (Not that DC was sitting around doing nothing, mind you...any more than Dylan, the Stones and the Who were; but the Beatles and Marvel, at least in this writer’s opinion, were way ahead of the pack.) But all that blew apart when the decade turned.
Those of you too young to have been comics fans in 1970—that tumultuous twelve months of Kent State, student strikes and Richard Nixon’s sweaty upper lip—can’t begin to grasp the impact that three words—”Kirby Is Here!”—had when they appeared on the cover of, believe it or not, Superman’s Pal, Jimmy Olsen. I was sixteen, a devoted Marvel follower, and still naive enough to believe that Lee and Kirby were as inseparable as, well, Lennon and McCartney. Of course 1970 was also the year in which the Beatles publicly disintegrated, as well. “The dream is over,” John Lennon sang—and it certainly was. Across the board. Across the country. The idealism, the optimism, the inspired lunacy of the sixties—which had spread throughout our culture via music, film, novels, and, yes, comics—was beginning to turn sour. Let’s face it: if Stan and Jack, if John and Paul, couldn’t keep it together, what possible chance did the rest of us have? (This sounds incredibly silly now, but, believe me, this was an unbelievably urgent question then. At least to me.)
But the energy and enthusiasm of those years was still pushing us forward and, in some ways, the creative energy of the early seventies surpassed the sixties. Sure, the Beatles were a dead issue, but the music Lennon produced in the years after the split, most notably the brilliant John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band album, was some of the most powerful, important music rock and roll had ever heard. (I told you I was fond of sweeping statements.) And this music was produced as a direct result of Lennon’s boredom with the Beatles, of his pulling away from McCartney’s influence, from the security of success. He danced out on a limb, the limb held, and the result was Art.
The same can be said of Kirby. With Lee, he had taken mainstream comics and turned them inside out, upside down, and left his mark forever (just as he’d already done, in earlier times, with Joe Simon: Kirby, it seemed, never met a revolution he didn’t like). But, as his later Marvel work too clearly showed, he was bored. How many times can the Thing turn against his partners? How often can Loki tiptoe past Odin’s bed and usurp the throne of Asgard? Pretty often—but too often for a restless limb-dancer like Jack Kirby. As with Lennon, Kirby’s vision was unique, singular; and, if his collaboration with Lee (as important to Marvel’s success as McCartney was to the Beatles’; neither man should be underestimated) brought Kirby to new levels, those levels had now been attained, a plateau had been reached, and it was time to move on. Without collaboration. Artists, real artists, tend to burn. When they’ve burned long enough, the smoke starts pouring through their lips and they’ve got to spit the fire out.
In 1970, Jack Kirby jumped from Marvel to DC and started spitting fire. The fire was called The New Gods, Mister Miracle, Jimmy Olsen and Forever People. Books as important to comics as Lennon’s POB album was to rock. Books that opened new doors, set new standards, did things that comics had never dared to do before. New Gods was clearly the most focused, perhaps the best of the bunch; Mister Miracle offered the most flat-out fun; Jimmy Olsen was as wonderfully bizarre, in its way, as those Silver Age stories that featured Jimmy turning into aliens, werewolves and giant turtles. Forever People—which featured Kirby’s cosmic hippies, the embodiment of youth and naivete, idealism and dreams—was my personal favorite; encapsulating, as it did, Kirby’s (and my own) hope for the future. True, the dialogue in these stories was sometimes awkward—but dialogue was never Kirby’s forte. Story-telling was. Spirit was. Vision was. And these stories had them all. They ran, they rambled, they surprised, they exploded. (The language often did the same thing: the dialogue, as noted, may have been clunky, but Kirby’s prose was also so wildly passionate, so utterly idiosyncratic, that it achieved a kind of mad poetic grandeur.)
There seemed no definite beginning, middle, or end; there was just the constant search, the quest for an intangible something that could never be defined. The characters themselves couldn’t be called three dimensional, in the conventional sense, but they existed in a dimension all their own. Orion and Lightray, Scott and Barda, Big Bear, Serafin, Desaad and, perhaps the greatest villain in the history of comic books, Darkseid: these were people that I, as a reader, cared passionately about. I enjoyed their company—and looked forward to their evolution. Unfortunately, for reasons that I’ve never heard adequately explained, that evolution was cut short. With the exception of Mister Miracle (which staggered on for several more issues), all the “Fourth World” titles were axed.
But you can’t kill a dream—and these stories live on, resonating not just through the DC Universe but all of popular culture. The word genius is one that’s often overused, and cheapened by that overuse, but if the comic book business has ever produced a genius, Jack Kirby was it: a genius who taught me that keeping my eyes wide, focused both on the limitless heavens and the infinite universes within the human heart, is the surest way to creating stories that matter.
The “Fourth World” saga was unquestionably Kirby's magnum opus. If you’ve read it before, I urge you to read it again. If you haven’t read it, I urge you to put aside your preconceptions, grab the first volume of the Fourth World Omnibus and surrender to one of the 20th Century’s master storytellers.
©copyright 2026 J.M. DeMatteis
Tuesday, August 25, 2026
SHAZAM!
Director Dan Riba and I join James Enstall and my favorite Wonder Woman, Susan Eisenberg, to discuss the Justice League Unlimited episode "Clash"—which features a classic battle between Superman and Captain Marvel. It's one of my favorites among the multiple JLU episodes I wrote.
You can listen below. Enjoy!
You can listen below. Enjoy!
Friday, August 21, 2026
RAY DAY 2026
Tomorrow is Ray Bradbury’s birthday, but I thought I'd start the celebration early.
I’ve written about Bradbury many times here at Creation Point and, rather than try to rephrase the same thoughts, I offer up a tapestry of selected passages from previous posts. Happy Ray Day!
***
As I've made clear many times, there are few people on the face of the planet who have influenced and, more important, inspired me as much as the great Ray Bradbury. Reading a classic Bradbury short story or essay on creativity, immersing myself in his novels (especially Dandelion Wine, one of the most glorious and magical books ever written), is an experience that strips away the layers of what I call the CNN Reality—the voices of Doom and Naysaying Cynicism that seek to tell us that we're small and helpless, ordinary and afraid—and opens our hearts and minds to a deeper, truer, more joyful reality: one where life is sacred, creativity is an expression of pure delight and the universe is viewed with eyes of innocence and wonder. Bradbury's words set fire to my soul decades ago and they still do the same today.
***
People call Bradbury a science-fiction writer, a fantasist, but I don’t think either label applies. He’s a preacher, a rhapsodist, an interfaith—no, interdimensional—minister. I’ve rarely encountered anyone who more eloquently encapsulates the sheer sacred joy of life. When I read a Bradbury story, I not only want to race to the computer and create literary wonders of my own—the greatest gift a fellow writer can give you—I want to race out the door and up the street with my arms wide, embracing the entire universe.
***
Reading Bradbury—opening your mind and heart to that unique voice, that amazing spirit—it’s as if the author himself arrives at your house. The door bursts opens, nearly flying off its hinges, and Ray races into the room, enveloping you in a bear hug—nearly cracking your ribs—spinning you around in circles as he bellows with laughter and perhaps sheds a tear or two, touched, as he is, by this reunion. He’s a one-man Imagination pantheon, an explosion of gods and goddesses, each one with a unique story to tell. You get him to sit down for a minute or two, have a sip of wine, but he’s soon up on his feet, dragging you to the window, pointing to the clouds, the moon, the stars...the whole wide universe. You watch in wonder and delight as Bradbury reaches out, wraps his arms around God, yanks him down to earth and kisses Him full on the mouth.
When Ray’s done, when he’s given his last oratory, spun his last tale, he crushes you in another bear-hug then races out the door, leaving you utterly exhausted, inspired—and grateful to be alive.
***
Here’s a passage from Bradbury’s essay “Predicting the Past, Remembering the Future” that, for me, boils the man down to his cosmic essence:
My own belief is that the universe exists as a miracle and that we have been born here to witness and celebrate. We wonder at our purpose for living. Our purpose is to perceive the fantastic. Why have a universe if there is no audience?
We are that audience.
We are here to see and touch, describe and move. Our job, then, is to occupy ourselves with paying back the gift.
***
Read Bradbury. Listen to Bradbury. Unfold your soul and let his words wash over you. If you're a budding writer, he'll fill you with burning passion for your chosen field. If you're an old hand like me, he'll make you feel like a newborn, just beginning on the most miraculous path God ever created. And if you're not a writer, I suspect he'll touch and move you in surprising ways that will echo on through your heart—and through your life.
***
The writers that matter most to us become our dearest friends and companions. I’ve traveled the universes with my friend Ray for the majority of my life and, with luck, I'll keep traveling with him for years to come.
©copyright 2026 J.M. DeMatteis
Friday, August 14, 2026
CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE SUPERMAN KIND
As under-the-radar projects of mine go, this one's really obscure: Superman—The Kansas Sighting. Call it a fusion of my love of UFOlogy and my love of the Man of Steel. This excellent video (which is part essay/part audio comic) takes a deep dive into the story. I'd forgotten most of the details, so watching this was almost like experiencing it for the first time, which made it great fun.
If memory serves, The Kansas Sighting originally appeared as two 48 page prestige format issues. I would love to see DC Comics reprint it.
Monday, August 10, 2026
BATMAN MEETS KRAVEN
I talk to the gang at the Capes and Lunatics podcast about Batman: Caped Crusader, the Kraven What If? story...and many other things. You can listen below. Enjoy!
Tuesday, August 4, 2026
OUR FAVORITE REDHEAD
One more summer release, on sale tomorrow: Mary Jane: Face It, Tiger is a one-shot anthology celebrating 60 years of one of comics most dynamic and memorable female characters. My story—beautifully illustrated by Andrea Broccardo—picks up on a plot element from my second Spectacular Spider-Man run, as MJ deals with the fallout of her confrontation with the Chameleon. You can see the list of other contributors below. I'm delighted to be in such impressive company.
If you're an MJ fan—I have to say it—you've just hit the jackpot.
Thursday, July 30, 2026
CRUSADING
Tomorrow is the day when the long-awaited second season of Batman: Caped Crusader arrives on Amazon Prime. My episode—I believe it's the fifth in the season—is called "The Spectral Hand" and it's a Christmas tale, but this being Gotham don't expect angels and hot chocolate. This one gets very strange.
Hope you all enjoy my contribution—and the entire season from Bruce Timm, James Tucker, Geoff Thorne and the whole Bat-crew.
Wednesday, July 29, 2026
HIS MIGHTY SHIELD
Had a great chat with the guys at the Captain America Fans Podcast—talking about Cap, the Kraven What If?, Rocket Rewind, and much more. You can watch it below.
Enjoy!
Tuesday, July 28, 2026
POST-GALACTIC
A great weekend at Galaxycon Raleigh—meeting heartfelt fans, seeing old friends (like Bob Budiansky, Ralph Macchio (the editor, not the Karate Kid), Ron Marz and more) and, best of all, hanging out with my beautiful daughter (and brilliant booth assistant), Katie.
Next up, in September: DragonCon and FanX Salt Lake. There might be one more convention later in the year, but that's still up in the air.
TOMORROW!
Two books coming tomorrow from Marvel: What If...? Spider-Man—with extraordinary art by Yildiray Cinar—which revisits Kraven's Last Hunt and asks the question "What if Kraven survived his last hunt?"...
..and Rocket Rewind, which features the first ever meeting of Rocket Raccoon and his progenitor Rocky Raccoon. (Read the story and you'll understand.) This wonderfully absurd tale is perfectly illustrated by my old friend and collaborator Shawn McManus.
Hope you enjoy them both!
Tuesday, July 21, 2026
THIS WEEK!
It's almost time for GalaxyCon Raleigh! As the hipsters (well, the ones from the 1950s) say: "Be there or be square!"
Friday, July 17, 2026
UNDERGROUND
Had an interesting chat with the guys at the Illustrated Underground Podcast, talking about everything from my work back in the 80s to my recent time travel novel Dark Future. You can watch it below. Enjoy!
Thursday, July 16, 2026
END OF AN ERA
The word is out (via The Hollywood Reporter) that Marvel Comics is leaving New York and moving to Los Angeles.
Back in the 1980s and 90s, a trip to the Marvel offices usually meant I’d be spending the entire day there—not just discussing work with my editors, but catching up on our lives, discussing (to purloin a phrase) life, the universe, and everything with an extraordinary editorial staff that included Danny Fingeroth, Tom DeFalco, Mark Gruenwald, Mike Carlin, Bob Budiansky, Carl Potts, Ann Nocenti, Glenn Greenberg, Eric Fein, and many more. These folks weren't just my editors, they were friends—and the Marvel office was a kind of home away from home. (The same was true of the Distinguished Competition. I'd often spend one day at Marvel, another at DC. Different faces, same vibe.)
Those offices were a place to work, but they were also places to hang out, meet up with fellow freelancers, goof around, share ideas. So much history, so many wonderful memories. Knowing both companies are gone from New York makes me sad.
I'm still working with Marvel all these years later. The current staff is a talented group of good people—and I send them all my very best as they wrestle with tough decisions in the months ahead.
Calling something the end of an era is a tired cliche, but, in this case, it's justified. Comic books and New York City have been synonymous since the dawn of the industry. Not anymore.
Friday, July 10, 2026
SILENCE DAY 2026
Wishing a happy, blessed Silence Day to my Meher Baba family around the world.
"Everything else may fail—Love never fails."—Avatar Meher Baba
Wednesday, July 8, 2026
AMAZING!
The massive Amazing Spider-Man #1000 is coming your way in September and I've got a story—focusing on Peter Parker's tangled, traumatic relationship with the Osborn family—in the collection, illustrated by the great Humberto Ramos. If you could see Humberto's pencil art for this Goblin-centric tale, your eyes would pop out of your head (in the very best way).
Can't wait for everyone to read this one. For now, enjoy Humberto's variant cover!
Update: AIPT just released a preview page (minus lettering) for our story and you can see it below. Fantastic, isn't it?
Thursday, June 25, 2026
WHAT THE IF?
I had a chat with the fine folks at CBR about my upcoming What If? tale that takes a new look at Kraven's Last Hunt. The amazing art (by Yildiray Cinar) and color (by Alex Sinclair) alone is worth the price of admission. You can read the article right here.
MORE CAPED CRUSADER
The second season of Batman: Caped Crusader is coming to Amazon Prime Video on July 31st and you can watch the trailer below. What's my episode about? I've signed an NDA so I can't reveal a thing (beyond the fact that, y'know, Batman is in it), but you'll be able to see it soon enough. Here's to more Cape to come!
Friday, June 12, 2026
GOING GALACTIC
I've got two conventions coming up in July. First is GalaxyCon New Orleans (July 10—12) and then comes GalaxyCon Raleigh (July 23—26). For some reason I'm not listed on the GalaxyCon site for either convention, but I suspect that will be corrected shortly.
These will be my first cons of the year and I'm really looking forward to getting back out there and meeting the folks who read, and appreciate, my work.
Update: For reasons too complicated to get into here, I will not be at the New Orleans GalaxyCon. GalaxyCon Raleigh—July 23—26—is still a go. See you there, I hope!
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