I actually had to go look up Billy Batson on the internet because I couldn’t remember his last name. Billy I remembered, Shazam, Captain Marvel, but what was the last name? Good thing there’s the internet when these pesky memory lapses happen.

The topic came up because my husband and I were talking about a recently deceased Port Townsend science fiction writer who’d started off writing literary stuff before remembering his early love for Captain Marvel. After which he began writing science fiction and fantasy. And we got there by discussing how our love for comics influenced our own lives and interests.

Tales From the Crypt, there was a good one. The X Men. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I laughed myself silly over Cherry Poptart, which probably explains why I have so much fun with Ellora’s Cave. Spawn and Daredevil were two of Pat’s favorites. Those comic stories were incredibly imaginative and complex, full of strange worlds, unusual characters, the supernatural, the superhuman, the superlative and bizarre.

The grownup world doesn’t have room for such things, we’re told. Or does it? Those early loves, the things that made us laugh, shiver, or sigh with envy, those are touchstones to the real part of ourselves that can get buried in living our busy adult lives. A life that doesn’t have room for transforming yourself with a timely “Shazam!” is a life lacking something vital, and it’s never too late to go back and get it.

Time to open up my WIP. Better transform myself into Writer Marvel. “SHAZAM!”.