Every origin story needs a beginning. Spider-Man had the radioactive spider. Batman had that unfortunate alleyway incident. My own story begins, as all great tales do, with a comic book.
It was April 1992. The Adventures of Superman #491 landed in my hands, and I treated it with the kind of reverence Indiana Jones had for the Ark of the Covenant. Except in my case, the Ark came with four-color printing, paper that smelled faintly of ink and destiny, and a Man of Steel trading blows with a mechanical menace.
I did not just read that comic. I absorbed it. I went cover to cover, from the opening splash page to the letters column, even the advertisements for mail-order novelties. Superman’s adventure did more than entertain me. It kicked down the doors to entire worlds of imagination.
Superman vs. Metallo: My First Heroic Showdown
This issue threw me straight into a cinematic clash between Superman and Metallo. The cyborg villain had been resurrected by the mysterious group known as Cerberus and now boasted frightening upgrades. Powered by a kryptonite heart and wrapped in heavy armor, Metallo made his grand entrance by storming a movie theater just to lure Superman into battle. Picture the world’s most destructive film trailer, only with less popcorn and more chaos.
Metallo was huge, relentless, and seemingly unstoppable. His mechanical body gave him brute strength and the uncanny ability to grow larger and more intimidating as the fight escalated. Yet he was not invincible. Superman, who could shrug off tanks and laser fire, had to focus on Metallo’s one weak point: his head. By disrupting the villain’s memory chips, Superman forced him into retreat, and in the process Metallo let slip the truth about Cerberus. The day was saved once more.
For a eight-year-old reader, watching the Man of Steel outwit a rampaging metal giant was unforgettable. It was not just about fists and explosions. It was about cleverness, tension, and the realization that even a godlike hero had to think his way out of danger. That moment planted the seed for my own fascination with mechanical marvels.
Hooked on Fantastical Worlds
That single comic became my gateway into the wider universe of imagination. Very quickly my school notebooks filled with scribbles, sketches, and stories of my own invention. I was no longer content to simply read about heroes. I wanted to create one. Thus, Mechman was born.
The Legend of Mechman
Mechman was half man, half machine, and entirely the product of a blunt pencil and a child’s enthusiasm. His anatomy was questionable, his origin story changed depending on what I had eaten for lunch, and his adventures were smudged by erasers that tore holes through his chest and arms. Yet to me, he was magnificent.
Mechman faced villains with names like “Laser Dude” and “The Evil Gear.” He fought bravely on pages of lined notebook paper, never once complaining about being drawn with hands that looked like lopsided claws. He was my first true creation, and he taught me that telling stories was just as thrilling as reading them.
Why It Matters
That first Superman comic did more than spark a hobby. It ignited a lifelong love of storytelling. Comics showed me pacing, dialogue, cliffhangers, and the irresistible pull of turning the page. They opened the door to fantasy, science fiction, steampunk, and every impossible invention I now fill my novels with.
Without Adventures of Superman #491, there may never have been Mechman. Without Mechman, I may never have discovered the joy of building worlds of my own.
So here is to Superman, to that fateful April in 1992, and to every comic that stoked my imagination. And here is to Mechman, still resting in a shoebox, a reminder that every writer’s origin story is built on a foundation of humor, wonder, and sometimes a very questionable drawing of a superhero’s hands.
Because every writer has an origin story. Mine just happens to come with capes, kryptonite, and a pencil-drawn hero who looked suspiciously like a stick figure in armor.