Words of Hope and Faith for the Weary

The Dragon in the Garden Blog Tour Guest Post

The Dragon in the Garden

The Watcher Rising Series #1

by Erika Gardner

Genre: Epic Urban Fantasy


There is magic beneath the mundane and in The Dragon in the Garden, Siobhan Orsini witnesses it all. No lie can fool her, no glamour or illusion can cloud her Sight. She sees through them all and wishes she could close her eyes. Returning to face her past, Siobhan inherits her grandparents’ house in California’s wine country. She encounters a talking dragon, a hot fallen angel, a demon lord, a Valkyrie, and, oh yes, her ex-boyfriend. And that is just in the first twenty-four hours.

It’s time to find out why she has this power.

Siobhan seeks out the Oracle and learns that only her Sight can help mankind navigate the travails of an ancient war. Our world is the prize in a battle between the dragons, who would defend us, and Lucifer’s fallen angels, who seek to take the Earth for themselves. Using her gift, she will have to make a choice that will decide humanity’s future.


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Buy Links

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-dragon-in-the-garden

The Dragon in The Garden– Excerpt #1


The memory has haunted me for years.

In the middle of a bright California summer, dark days came. My mother and grandparents spoke in hushed, serious voice, arguing about my absent father. Was it my fault he left? A soft whimper escaped my throat and my eyes burned. I needed a hug, but no one paid any attention to me that day.  So I ran away to the refuge of my grandparents’ garden where I could hide among its statues and flowers.

My eyes lingered over the familiar garden ornaments. I passed the old birdbath, the statues of gnomes, and a cheerful squirrel. I ran one hand over the stone deer. Its brown paint had faded from years under the sun. Walking with quick steps down the gravel path, I made my way to the center of the garden, my special spot where my favorite statue waited.

A gnarled apricot tree grew there.  Right now it was covered with tiny green apricots. Later in the summer the sweet fruit I loved would ripen. I would get to pick them with my parents, no, just with my mother. My lip trembled. My father wouldn’t be here.

The bright-green dragon lay curled at the foot of the apricot tree, partially covered by vines. My mother called the color jade green—the same shade as my eyes. As a child she talked to all the statues, but I only spoke to the dragon. I named her Daisy. Sitting down next to her now, the tears welled up at last, spilling over my cheeks. I wrapped my arms around my legs, making myself into a little ball of five year old misery.

“Child, why are you sad?” said a woman’s voice.

“Who said that?” I asked, wiping my cheek.

“I did.”

“Where are you?” I stood and peered at the plants and statues around me.

“Right here.”

“Are not,” I retorted.

A soft laugh filled the air and the woman spoke again. “Perhaps you are right. Easy enough to fix, I suppose.”

The breeze picked up. The space beneath the apricot tree shimmered. Ripples warped the air like the heat over the barbecue when my father cooked. The sweet notes of wind chimes filled the yard. Grandma and Grandpa didn’t have any wind chimes. I whirled around to find the noise.

Under the branches appeared an enormous green dragon’s head.

Erika is a sixth generation San Franciscan of Irish descent. She attended the University of California at Davis and completed degrees in Medieval History and Biological Sciences. A lifelong lover of books and a scribbler of many tales from a young age (her first story was completed at age five) she turned to writing full-time in 2011.

On a personal level she loves spicy food, twilight, dark chocolate (with sea salt-yum!) and nickel slots at Vegas. Erika lives for time with friends, a nice glass of red wine, “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” & “Doctor Who” and good conversation. Her favorite things to do are running, cooking, reading, needlework, gardening… and of course, writing. Erika’s music of choice is heavy metal. To pick her out in a lineup you should know that she is very short, fairly loud, and has dark eyebrows. The rest, as her hero Anne McCaffrey once said in her bio, “is subject to change without notice”.

Erika resides in Northern California with her incredibly hot husband, their three amazing kids, and their chocolate Labrador named Selkie. To reach Erika regarding her books, wine recommendations, or to debate which Iron Maiden album is the best (clearly, it’s Brave New World)


Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Pinterest* * Amazon * Goodreads


Author Links

Website:  www.erikagardner.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/@Erika_Gardner/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/TheErikaGardner/

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/egardnerauthor/


Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14899131.Erika_Gardner

The topic is simple… a day in an author’s life…

Hmm. Or maybe not so simple at all. Actually it’s darn hard. I hate to let anyone down.


I could talk about the near Zen experience of seeing fresh words proliferating a new page. Maybe I might mention the joy of following my lifelong dream of being an actual, real live, professional writer. The reader could be interested in my day dreams, the sword fights being choreographed in my head as I run errands, or the villains haunting my nights as I fall asleep. I could tell you about the tears I shed at the gym as I realize (incongruously on the stair stepper) that I must kill off a character I truly like. Then I shudder with fear at the certainty that my critique group is going to murder me when I do.


All this does happen, but mostly a typical day in my life as a writer is pretty much like everyone else’s. I pay bills, clean house, get my oil changed. I spend time online on social media and blogs because I have a marketing department of ONE and that’s moi. (That said moi is not trained in marketing is not relative. We authors learn on the job.) If I am really lucky then I carve out some time to actually… write.


I think people would be shocked at how little space there is in my life for the actual writing, that creative process I so desperately crave. I love my family to bits but I am fairly certain that they do not realize, let alone understand, how essential writing is to me. It’s regenerating, life giving, and it’s simply what I was born to do. Usually I get the most work done around the edges of the rest of my life. It blossoms late at night, in carpool lines, when the kids are at school, or in dentists’ waiting rooms.


Mind you, I’m not complaining. Even a bit of bliss is still bliss. I’ll take it. Hopefully, if enough of you read my work then I will be able to carve out more of this awesomeness and keep going!


Thanks for letting me stop by. Oh, and welcome to my head.


 one $10 and one $25 Amazon gift card


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