One of my favorite gifts from childhood was a create-your-own story kit. It was a perfectly packaged set of pages with designated spaces to pen the world's next bestseller and illustrate pictures to go along with it. Then all you had to do was ship it to company headquarters, and—viola! Within 5 to 7 business days (okay, it was the early 2000s, so maybe longer), your book would be "published" and returned to you with a hard cover, glossy numbered pages, and, best of all, your

---The below excerpt is a chapter from my debut memoir, Temple and Ash--- I cannot focus. I cannot stop checking my phone. I am supposed to be teaching the most devout group of multilingual learners the difference between apostrophes in contractions and apostrophes that show possession, which is arguably one of my favorite topics. But I am floating above myself, waiting for the text message that will change my life. Why did I even come to work today? Then I remember that of m

---The below excerpt is a chapter from my debut memoir, Temple and Ash--- I am sitting on the front porch watching a spring rain soak the already-damp earth. I so rarely sit like this; never allowing myself a moment to rest. To just be. But today is Mother’s Day. And the weather is kind to me, poignantly reflecting my mood. As I watch muddy puddles form across the saturated lawn, an old song plays in my head. A song from childhood. Rafi, I think. The lyrics are silly and a

---The below excerpt is a chapter from my debut memoir, Temple and Ash--- My gerbera daisy bloomed this morning. I didn’t think she would flower again. Mom said she has never been able to get hers to, and her thumb is greener than Shrek’s. There were times I thought she was a lost cause; dead for good. But this morning she stands tall and bright. Resilient. Hopeful. That relentless canary yellow daisy is the first thing I see in my mind’s eye when Dr. C tells me that we are

---The below excerpt is a chapter from my debut memoir, Temple and Ash--- It is nearing bedtime, and my younger sister Casey exhales dramatically as we sit side-by-side in the bathtub, scrubbing the shower walls with our soapy rags. Together, we bemoan the devious Evil Step-Mother for forcing us into such cruel indentured servitude and preventing us from being outside instead, singing and dancing with the birds. I lean over to inspect her work, informing her that she has mis