Page 48 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

“My dog licked my face,” I tell him. When he doesn’t look impressed, I add, “She doesn’t lick faces.”

A woman I’ve never met walks by us, and I can’t keep in my good news. “My dog licked my face,” I say brightly.

She touches her purse, like she’s debating whipping out her phone and calling 911.

I’m about to share my thrilling news with the next passerby, when I realize the approaching redhead is Maggie. “Hello, Margaret.”

“I heard your dog licked your face.”

What did I tell you about Windfall’s rumor mill? “She’s a dog prodigy.”

“She’s adorable, and that’s the only action you’ll be getting in Windfall, so I suggest you enjoy it. Oh, and stay away from Delilah.”

And let that quicksand drag her under? Not on my watch. “Should I tell Lennon you asked about him again?”

She snarls at me and sashays into the shop.

I settle into my seat, with my awesome, face-licking dog at my side, and open my sketchbook and laptop. With Delilah’s Method acting and Sathya’s continued avoidance, I’ve had so much time to sketch I’ve worn my pencils down. Not only have I fleshed out the characters in my life story, but I’ve blocked out the main turning points in the script.

In my early days working with Sathya, her scripts were incredibly detailed, every facial feature outlined, down to the length and directional flow of a character’s eyelashes. Later, as we learned to trust each other’s processes and instincts, a panel description would read as simply as Ceuthon stabs Argus with a bolt of fire. She trusted I’d illustrate the tension in Ceuthon, capturing his turmoil in killing the giant he once loved.

Writing my own graphic novel based on my life takes this minimalist approach to the next level. The panels are piling up in my head, details nagging at me to bring them to life. Instead of planning each chapter and the number of panels per page, I push my sketchbook aside and open a fresh Clip Studio document. Sathya isn’t here to guide me with her plotting. There’s no contracted script length I need to reach. I just have this tremendous need to purge my story, get it out of my head for the first time.

While I’ve designed the characters as avian-inspired humans—Delilah living on Earth, my family shipped off to Mars—they mostly resemble their human counterparts. I’ve changed our names, though. Delilah’s name is Delilyn, and mine is Edgren. And yeah. My lack of creativity in the name department is why I’ve never been the writer of my publishing duo, but I don’t let the name stumble thwart my progress. I can change those details later. I’ll also add color when the whole thing’s done. For now, I just need to draw.

The first couple of panels flow quickly, starting with young Delilyn’s “Get off my land,” her wingspan stretched wide, an attempt at intimidation, followed by my brilliant comebacks in this birding world. I spend extra time on her face, capturing the details from my memory—the indignation in her eyes, the wind whipping her curly hair. In later frames, I add the moon necklace I gave her that she for sure torched to dust. In each frame, I leave enough room for her dialogue bubble, the balance of written space and imagery second nature to me now.

Two hours later, when my phone rings, I have a full page of panels done.

I cringe at the sight of my agent’s name, but there’s no point putting off this conversation. “Hey, Margot.”

“Brian. You sound well.”

“Best I’ve felt in a long while.” Margot is well acquainted with my deep dives into despair. Over the years, there have been a few less important deadlines pushed. “I’m guessing you haven’t heard from Sathya?” I ask.

“Not a word. She won’t answer my calls. What about you?”

I could lie, respect Sathya’s wishes to drop off the grid, but I don’t like that she’s avoiding me. Her choices affect my career as much as hers. “I haven’t heard a thing, but my brother ran into her. She told him not to tell me he saw her.”

“That’s not good.”

“Yeah. No clue what’s up with her.” While Sathya and I have spent a ton of time together, our relationship is mostly professional. WITSEC made me extra introverted, and she likes her privacy too. With her odd behavior, I regret not getting to know her better. “If we have to delay, how pissed will the publisher be?”

“It depends how this ends. This is their big summer release. They’ve booked advertising with some major players. Pushing the deadline won’t go over well, but they’ll find ways to adjust. If you don’t actually finish and pull the project completely, they might take it to their lawyers.”

The latter is not a good option. I’ve spent a chunk of my advance on my new truck, new apartment deposits, and daily living expenses. The rest of my cash needs to stretch until we start earning bigger royalties on this next release. “I’ll try to get ahold of her again.”

But we both know how that’ll go.

Margot doesn’t reply. A car slows on the main street, window rolled down so the smiling driver can chat with the person crossing the road. Two little girls run ahead of their mothers, giggling, aiming for the town’s grassy central square, like they’re going to vault into the stone fountain at the center.

I’m about to end the call, take a break from working and enjoy the heartwarming sights and sounds of Windfall, when Margot says, “You really do sound great, Brian. And your illustrations so far for the prequel have been phenomenal. Your best yet. You’re insanely talented.”

Phenomenal. Insanely talented. I don’t have Candy Cane’s enhanced canine sense of smell, but I can smell Margot’s I’m-about-to-suggest-something-you-won’t-like flattery from across the country. “That’s so nice of you to say, Margot. Do your other clients lap up this kind of overinflated fawning?”

“You know you’re good, Brian. I’m just reminding you of your exceptional talent. So, you know, if Sathya drops her side of the contract, then your talented fingers and creative mind can pick up her slack.”

Oh, hell no. “I’m not writing the last half of Gates. This is Sathya’s baby. Her world she created. I won’t do that to her.” Both our names may be on those novels, but as far as I’m concerned, Gates of Ember is her intellectual property. Haters are gonna hate. Cheaters are gonna cheat, and I am not a cheating traitor who will swindle Sathya out of her creation. Still, things are clearly worse than I expected. Margot wouldn’t suggest I work solo if she wasn’t freaking out.