Lola Sharp, it was that writing workshop we attended together where I first had the idea for this book. Alison Ames, thank you for your notes and for always being open to my anxiety texts. Our friendship bloomed at the same time this story did, and I couldn’t have asked for better fruit. Amber McBride, my fellow ’88 forest witch! Your critique was pure magic. I never would’ve finished these edits if not for our writing sprints and your encouragement. Ally Malinenko, thank you for shouting about this book almost as loudly as I have.

Dad, you taught me to follow my heart, and it led me here. I love you. DFYP. Rachel Kellogg and Erin Philpot, you’ve been my cheerleaders for over a decade. Bonnie Smith Whitehouse and Amy Hodges-Hamilton, I found my voice and my passion for writing in your classes. To my #NastyCousins for reminding me that the family you’re born with can be the family you choose. To Galina, because these are my acknowledgments, and I can thank whoever I want. To Frankie, who sat on my lap when I wrote my first book, and still sits by my feet today. And finally, to Nick for your love, your jokes, and your help breaking this story. I wouldn’t want to spend my life with anyone else.

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About the Author

Liz Parker loves gardening, a good cup of tea, and the kind of story that sinks its hooks into you and refuses to let go. She grew up with her time split between Tennessee and Nevada, giving her a love for the kind of magic you can only find on a hot summer night when the fireflies float drunk on humidity or beneath a cloudless desert sky lit by stars and possibility. Today, Liz lives in California with her husband, dog, and too many houseplants to name (though she could if you asked).

Find out more at:

LizParkerWrites.com

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Twitter: @LizParkerWrites

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Reading Group Guide

Reading Group Guide for

In the Shadow Garden

Author’s Note

They tell you to write what you know, and for me there are two things I’ve known most of my life: trauma and gardening. Over the years, I’ve found healing in both putting words on the page and burying my hands in the earth. I’ve seen the broken pieces of my heart transformed in time (and with a good amount of therapy) and my pain turned into something I can use to help myself and maybe even help others.

That is where the idea for this story came from. I wondered: What if there was a garden that lived on pain, a place where suffering could be physically transformed into something beautiful?