Interview: Author and Playwright John Wells III talks about the upcoming DIVERSITY IN FANTASY panel at San Diego Comic Con

Jul 23

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Author, playwright, and educator John Wells III may not have received his Hogwarts letter or found a magic wardrobe, but the San Diego native has created worlds just as rich—and far more inclusive—through The Kalib Andrews Chronicles. Ahead of this Friday’s Diversity in Fantasy panel at San Diego Comic-Con, he took time to answer questions about superheroes, storytelling, and why representation matters—especially in the fantasy worlds we escape to. If you love fantasy with rich lore, emotionally resonant characters, and inclusive worldbuilding, this panel is for you.

Diversity in Fantasy highlights authors expanding the genre’s boundaries with inclusive, heartfelt storytelling. The panel examines how writers craft authentic characters and create vivid worlds that reflect the full spectrum of human experience. At its core, it celebrates representation and the belief that everyone deserves to be the hero.

Panelists include:
Nick Brooks (Nothing Interesting Ever Happens to Ethan Fairmont)
Jade Adia (There Goes the Neighborhood, Batgirl: Possession)
Mary Ting (ISAN, Crown of Wings and Thorns)
Vince Alvendia (Dark Agents Book One, Horrorgasm Anthology)
Sajni Patel (Drop of Venom, Touch of Blood)
Pamuela Halliwell (Grieving Still, Crossing Over: The Garden of Hope)
Leon Langford (StarLion)
John Wells III (The Kalib Andrews Chronicles)

Beloved content creator and community leader Tiffie Starchild moderates the panel.

Before you attend and support these wonderful creators by exploring their work, here is what John Wells III had to say about his approach to storytelling and representation.

You grew up in San Diego dreaming of becoming a superhero. How did that early love for fantasy evolve into the worlds you now build in The Last Angel Warrior, The Heir of Ambrose, and The Invisible City?
Growing up in San Diego, I was always the kid running around the house with a towel tied around my neck, convinced I was going to save the world. I was always looking for the hidden magic in the world. Waiting for my letter to Hogwarts. My acceptance into Camp Halfblood, or hoping to stumble upon a magic wardrobe. I think, like a lot of kids who felt a little different, I was drawn to superheroes because they made “otherness” powerful. Being strange, or misunderstood, or set apart—that was the very thing that made them special. That fantasy gave me a sense of agency before I had language for the things that made me feel like an outsider.

Over time, my love for fantasy shifted from just consuming stories to wanting to create them. I started asking deeper questions: What if angels had politics? What if power came with grief? What if the chosen one didn’t want to be chosen? That’s how the Kalib Andrews Chronicles began. I wanted to write stories where magic and mythology weren’t just backdrops—they were mirrors. Where characters carried trauma, identity, and questions of belonging into their world-saving missions. Because that’s what I was doing in my own life.

In many ways, my childhood dream of being a superhero never really left—it simply evolved. Now, instead of saving the world, I get to build new ones.

You’re part of this year’s “Diversity in Fantasy” panel at Comic-Con. What does authentic representation in fantasy mean to you—and how do you approach building inclusive worlds that reflect the richness of real life?
Authentic representation in fantasy means creating worlds where everyone gets to exist—fully, complexly, and without having to justify their presence. It’s not about checking boxes or inserting characters to make a statement; it’s about reflecting the richness of the world we actually live in. People of color, queer people, disabled people, neurodivergent people—we all exist in real life, and we should be able to see ourselves in imagined ones too.

When I’m building inclusive worlds, I try to start from character, not category. I ask: Who is this person at their core? What do they want? What wounds are they carrying? And then I layer in the world around them—the cultural details, the societal norms, the conflicts they face—so that their identity shapes their experience without being their only trait.

In The Kalib Andrews Chronicles, I didn’t set out to write “a Black fantasy series.” I set out to write a story about a boy with powers who’s caught between worlds—and he just happens to be a Black teenager growing up in a world that doesn’t know what to do with that. That’s the kind of representation that feels real to me: when characters are allowed to be everything all at once—powerful, flawed, magical, human, or not.

As a playwright, actor, and educator, how do your experiences in live theatre and public speaking shape your storytelling voice as a novelist?
Live theatre taught me how to listen—to rhythm, to silence, to subtext. As a playwright and actor, you become acutely aware of how words land in real time. You learn that it’s not just what a character says, but what they don’t say, and how the audience feels it anyway. That sensitivity to pacing, emotion, and tension absolutely shapes how I write novels. I’m always thinking: How will this moment feel when someone reads it? Will it hold them? Will it break them? Will it make them lean in?
As an educator, I’ve had to learn how to make complex ideas clear, relatable, and emotionally resonant. That has a huge impact on my writing voice. I want readers to feel things, but I also want them to walk away with something lasting—some idea that settles in deeper than just the plot.
So all of those experiences—stage work, teaching, live dialogue—have taught me that storytelling isn’t just about inventing worlds. It’s about creating connection. Whether I’m in front of a classroom, on a stage, or on the page, I’m always trying to build a bridge between the story and the heart of the person receiving it.

You’ve said everyone deserves to see themselves as the hero. Was there a moment when you felt that truth most deeply?
Absolutely—and honestly, I think that moment hits me over and over again, but one that stands out is the first time I saw a young Black reader light up while holding The Last Angel Warrior. He looked at the cover, looked at me, and said, “Wait—is this you? He looks like me.” And I realized in that moment: this is why I write.

Growing up, I loved fantasy, but I rarely saw heroes who looked like me, spoke like me, or came from families like mine. So I often imagined myself into the stories because I had to—there wasn’t anyone there by default. Now, I get to create stories where kids don’t have to imagine themselves in—they’re already there.

That same feeling shows up when I’m writing too—especially when I’m deep in a scene and I realize I’m not just writing a character, I’m allowing myself to heal. I’m writing a younger version of myself out of isolation. I’m writing the story I wish I had at 13. And when I perform or speak publicly and someone comes up afterward and says, “That made me feel seen”—that’s the moment it all becomes worth it. Every time.

Between founding Loud Fridge Theatre Group and writing fantasy for young readers, your work uplifts underrepresented voices. How do you see storytelling as a tool for building community and sparking change?

For me, storytelling has always been a form of resistance—and a form of refuge. It’s where we get to tell the truth, even when the world isn’t ready to hear it. Whether it’s through theatre or fiction, I see storytelling as a sacred space where people can be fully seen—where their joy, their pain, their culture, and their magic are centered on their own terms.

With Loud Fridge Theatre Group, the mission was always about giving underrepresented artists a platform, not just to perform, but to own their narratives. That same spirit lives in the books I write. Because when young readers see themselves as the hero—as someone worthy of wonder, of power, of love—it can change how they see themselves in the real world too.

Stories build community because they remind us we’re not alone. They make space for empathy. And when empathy leads to understanding, and understanding leads to action—that’s how change begins. One story at a time.

Gratitude and the Power of Storytelling

I’m really grateful—for the readers, the panelists, the kids who pick up my book and see something of themselves in it. And honestly, for the kid I used to be—the one who didn’t always feel seen, but kept imagining anyway.

Stories saved me when I didn’t have the words yet. Now I get to write the stories I needed—and that feels like the closest thing to magic I’ve ever known.

That’s the heart behind the Diversity in Fantasy panel. It’s more than a conversation—it’s a celebration of what fantasy can be when all of us are invited to the table. I’m honored to share space with an incredible lineup of authors who are redefining the genre: from Nick Brooks and Jade Adia to Mary Ting, Vince Alvendia, Sajni Patel, Pamuela Halliwell, and Leon Langford—each of them is crafting bold, beautiful stories rooted in authenticity and imagination. And with beloved content creator and community leader Tiffie Starchild moderating, I know the discussion will be just as powerful as the books themselves.

We don’t just write fantasy—we write possibility. And this panel is proof that representation isn’t just important. It’s transformative.

If you have a badge, don’t miss the Diversity in Fantasy panel Friday, July 25 at 6 pm, Room 9, San Diego Convention Center. Meet the panelists and get books signed beforehand from 4:30–5:30 pm, Sails Pavilion, Table AA06. No badge? Support these authors by sharing their work and diving into their books because inclusive fantasy doesn’t stop at the convention doors.