Chuck Dixon adored comic books as a child, hoping to draw his own adventures when he grew up.

Except his artistic skills didn’t align with those dreams, so he went for Plan B. He’d write the kind of colorful stories that thrilled him as a lad instead.

That worked. 

Dixon went on to pen some of the biggest titles in the comic book industry. His imagination drew the attention of Hollywood icon Sylvester Stallone. And when his industry looked askance at his conservative views, he kept busy on his own terms.

“This is all I wanna do … this is all I care about, or I’ll spend my life driving an ice cream truck,” Dixon says of his early push into the comic book industry. It still took him to the age of 32 to flesh out his comic dreams, working odd jobs like a security guard while furiously pitching editors on his tall tales.

The late bloomer would catch up for lost time. Dixon’s remarkable career includes major stints writing “Batman,” “The Punisher,” “Conan the Barbarian” and more iconic titles. 

“I never typed the words ‘Batman and Robin’ without getting goosebumps,” he says. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

He also co-created the Dark Knight’s villainous Bane with Graham Nolan and adapted “The Hobbit” into a New York Times bestselling graphic novel.

His delayed launch into the business became an advantage. 

“I was such a student of the medium ... I would study and study comics all over the world,” he says. “I’d talk to artists and editors and soak up all this knowledge.”

His celebrated run with DC Comics eventually ran its course, in part due to the industry’s progressive transition. The editors he worked with earlier in his career eventually left the business, replaced by those he says were “indifferent to comics.”

“I didn’t have as much value to them,” he concedes. It didn’t help that his conservative views clashed with those of some of his colleagues.

“My politics didn’t matter when I first got into the business. You could argue about stuff during lunch,” he recalls. The newer crop of editors drilled down on political matters from a left-leaning perspective both on and off the page, he says.

“They took me to task for things I said,” he recalls. More disheartening? He says they “corrupted” iconic characters to promote their political views. He strived to stay true to the heroes in play.

“I’d have Batman give the most passionate arguments against guns, and I’m a lifelong NRA member,” he says. “I put a Hillary Clinton joke in a ‘Birds of Prey’ title. That’s as far as I went.”

Dixon shifted his attention to other media over the years. His 12-volume “Levon Cade” vigilante book series drew Stallone’s attention. The two previously connected for an “Expendables” prequel comic Dixon penned. He nearly got a gig co-writing the second film in that action franchise thanks to his bond with the “Rocky” superstar.

“Oh, that’s the end of my Hollywood career,” Dixon says, except Stallone kept calling. They eventually teamed on a graphic novel, “The Expendables Go to Hell.” They collaborated once more for Lionsgate’s 2025 action romp “A Working Man,” starring Jason Statham as Levon Cade.

Stallone co-wrote the screenplay, and the film made $89 million worldwide. A sequel is “inevitable,” Dixon predicts, thanks to Statham’s interest in the saga.

The comic book industry has struggled to adapt to a digital age, but Dixon keeps rolling with the business punches. He leans on crowdfunding campaigns to fuel select projects, and recently teamed with indie comic book entrepreneur Eric July for a gaggle of titles.

His latest project for July’s RippaVerse is “Seven Deadly Sinners,” a grindhouse spin on “Seven Samurai” involving bikers coming to the aid of a weed farmer in the 1970s.

The title, due May 20, already met its $10,000 pre-order goal, and features work by artist Bob C. Hardin. He’s best known for rock posters for Meatloaf, Metallica and Alice Cooper.

Dixon says it’s a vital time for the comic book industry, even if it doesn’t follow the blueprint established in his early days with the industry. And the 71-year-old still feels like that kid eager to tell stories to friends and strangers alike.

The biggest difference? He doesn’t have to wait for an editor’s approval.

“I don’t need permission to write … I write what I want when I want,” he says. “I can still get worked up about the silliest things. It’s become a compulsion.”