The Mythmakers, the Magic, and the Making of a Creative Life: A Conversation with John Hendrix

This Play it Again episode harkens back to Season Four, where BookWorthy interviewed the awe-inspiring artist and writer, John Hendrix.

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Some conversations feel less like interviews and more like sitting down with a kindred spirit — someone who loves story, beauty, and truth with the same wholehearted delight you do. My recent conversation with New York Times bestselling illustrator and author John Hendrix was exactly that kind of moment.

John’s book is The Mythmakers: The Remarkable Fellowship of C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien. My 15‑year‑old nearly skipped school to join the interview — a fact John found both hilarious and entirely reasonable.

But before we dove into Lewis, Tolkien, and the creative life, I had to ask the impossible question: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe or The Hobbit?

John didn’t hesitate long.

“The Hobbit would probably be my choice… it was my entry point to fantasy as a genre,” he told me, remembering the book cover with its mesmerizing drawing of Smaug.

And with that, we were off — two book lovers, one artist, and a shared affection for the stories that shaped us.

The Ordinary Friendship That Changed the World

One of the most refreshing things about John’s work is how he brings history to life without sanding off its humanity. Lewis and Tolkien weren’t literary giants when they met. They were two mid‑forties professors, shuffling between committee meetings, grading papers, and sharing cider at the pub.

“They did not know that they were the C. S. Lewis and the J. R. R. Tolkien,” John said. “They were just these two friends… desperate to write the kinds of things they longed to read.”

Their friendship wasn’t tidy. It wasn’t always easy. But it was real — and it mattered.

John’s graphic novel explores not only their creative partnership but also the deeper question that animated both men: Where do myths come from, and why do they matter?

This is where John’s storytelling shines. He doesn’t simply recount facts; he traces the heartbeat beneath them.

Lewis and Tolkien shared a longing — a deep, almost homesick ache for something beyond themselves. Lewis famously called it sehnsucht, “a longing for longing,” or as he wrote elsewhere, the smell of a flower we’ve never seen.

John captures that beautifully:

“They both shared that… the joy that came from storytelling, and the mystery of where that joy comes from.”

It’s the kind of longing that pulls us toward fairy tales, toward beauty, toward the stories that whisper of a truer world.

The Friendship That Wasn’t Perfect — and Why That Matters

One of the most compelling threads in John’s book is the arc of Lewis and Tolkien’s friendship — not just the golden years of the Inklings, but the slow unraveling that followed.

Their differences were real. Their temperaments clashed. Their creative visions diverged. And when Lewis married Joy Davidman, the shift in his life created a fracture neither man fully knew how to navigate.

“They were British men… they were not comfortable with their feelings,” John said with a wry smile. “The real closeness they had in their 30s and 40s was never there after Lewis married Joy.”

And yet — Tolkien’s letters after Lewis’s death reveal a man gutted by the loss of a friend he still loved deeply.

There’s something profoundly human about that. Something that reminds us that friendship is not a straight line but a living thing — fragile, beautiful, and worth tending.

As parents, we often imagine our children’s friendships should be conflict‑free, mirror‑image relationships. But Lewis and Tolkien show us a better way: friendship rooted not in sameness, but in shared wonder.

The Power of Community — and Why Artists Need It

John’s own creative life has been shaped by community, too. He’s part of the Rabbit Room and a regular at Hutchmoot, the annual gathering of artists, writers, and lovers of story.

“Our work almost always gets better in community,” he told me. “We need people… whether you’re on the Christian side or the anthropological side.”

It’s a reminder many of us need: creativity isn’t meant to be a solitary pilgrimage. Even the most introverted artist thrives when surrounded by people who understand the strange, holy work of making things.

And for John, that community has been both grounding and inspiring — especially during his research trips to Oxford, where he walked the same streets Lewis and Tolkien once wandered.

Faith, Art, and the Courage to Make Interesting Things

One of my favorite parts of our conversation was John’s honesty about faith and creativity. He didn’t set out to be a “Christian illustrator.” In fact, he laughs at the idea.

“I would be stunned if you told the 23‑year‑old version of me that now I make books that have literal Jesus in them,” he said.

But he also refuses the idea that art must fit into tidy sacred/secular boxes.

“Go and make the most interesting, the weirdest possible thing you can, and see who responds.”

That freedom — that holy permission — is something I wish every young artist could hear.

God is not honored by safe art. He is honored by honest art. Curious art. Art that reflects the Imago Dei in all its wild, imaginative glory.

Raising Creative Kids in a Visual World

As a mom of creative kids myself, I loved John’s practical wisdom for nurturing young artists.

Forget formal lessons, he says. Forget perfection. Forget the pressure to produce something “good.”

“The best thing you can do… is have lots of supplies on hand,” John Hendrix said. “Make drawing a part of your daily life… You learn by doing it.”

He encourages parents to create a “drawing station” — a place where kids can sit down and start making without setup or cleanup.

And for kids who want to tell stories with their art?

“Make a little zine… make something that has a destination,” he said. “We all need deadlines and an audience for our work.”

As someone who paints during my quiet time with God — imperfectly, slowly, sometimes messily — I resonated deeply with his reminder that art is a journey, not a performance.

Our kids need to see us make imperfect things. They need to see us try, fail, try again, and enjoy the process.

What’s Next for John Hendrix

John’s excitement was contagious as he held up the proof of The Mythmakers — complete with a foil‑stamped case cover that made both of us grin.

“Truly, the best part of making books is the little finishing details,” John Hendrix said.

After The Mythmakers releases in September, he’s turning to a follow‑up to his beloved book Drawing Is Magic, celebrating its 10th anniversary with a new project called 100 Things.

Our household will be first in line.

Why This Conversation Matters

Talking with John reminded me of why we love stories in the first place.

• Because stories shape us.

• Because friendship shapes us.

• Because beauty shapes us.

Lewis and Tolkien didn’t set out to change the world. They set out to write the stories they longed to read — and they did it together, imperfectly, faithfully, joyfully.

John Hendrix is doing the same in his own way, inviting a new generation of readers — including reluctant ones — into the wonder of history, faith, and imagination.

And maybe that’s the quiet magic of it all: when we create from a place of longing, honesty, and community, we join a lineage of mythmakers who remind the world that truth is beautiful and beauty is true.

If you had to choose — The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe or The Hobbit — which one has your heart? I’d love to hear your pick in the comments.

Happy reading, friends.