Closing the Curtains on LIT 102: A Journey of Growth, Reflection, and Renewal

As we approach the end of our LIT 102 course, I find myself looking back with a deep sense of gratitude and growth. What began as another requirement on my teacher-training journey has become one of the most transformative learning experiences I’ve had in a long time.

This course pushed me to reflect not only on what I have done in my classroom, but also on what I haven’t done. I revisited the strategies that strengthened my students’ writing, the moments where they truly blossomed, and the practices that encouraged creativity and confidence. But I also had to face the areas where my approach fell short: the rushed lessons, the times I told students “add more detail” without fully modelling how, the moments I could have encouraged deeper thinking or supported their writing more intentionally.

And that honesty has been powerful.

                          A Teacher’s Reawakening

Poem: Penned by Reshana Britton

I entered LIT 102 with habits in hand,
Old lessons folded like papers I’d planned.
But page by page, the course pulled me in
Inviting me gently to start again.

I looked at my practice with honest eyes,
The triumphs, the gaps, the unspoken whys.
I saw where my teaching had lifted them high,
And where my silence had let moments pass by.

Each lecture became a lantern’s glow,
Revealing the things I needed to know.
Not just techniques or rules to write
But how to guide hearts, how to ignite.

Now as the curtains begin to close,
A deeper understanding quietly grows.
My confidence blooms, renewed and bright
Ready to model, to scaffold, to light.

I leave this course not as I came,
But stronger, wiser, never the same.
Fueled with purpose, equipped to inspire
A teacher reborn with a brighter fire.

Petite Carenage - Descriptive Piece, by Niola Patrice

There are moments in nature that touch the heart in quiet and unforgettable ways. My time at Petite Carenage Nature Sanctuary was one of those moments. The soft rustle of the trees, the bright flash of wings, and the gentle rhythm of the tide created a deep sense of peace within me. This podcast is my attempt to capture that feeling and to share the calm, wonder, and gratitude that the sanctuary stirred in my spirit.
As you listen, I invite you to open your heart, breathe deeply, and allow this journey through nature to remind you of the beauty that still surrounds us and the harmony we often overlook.

Niola Patrice

https://youtu.be/wTNtM4rP3HM

From Sparks to Stories: Crafting Characters, Settings, and Plots Step by Step

 

From Sparks to Stories: Crafting Characters, Settings, and Plots Step by Step

This week in our writing journey, I found myself exploring the many layers that make a story come alive. The plot became the backbone of my thoughts, guiding me to ask the important questions of who, what, where, why, when, and how. At first, I felt overwhelmed by the vast possibilities, but as we broke the plot into the beginning, middle, climax, and end, the pieces began to fit together like a puzzle. I realized that a story without direction is like a boat without a rudder, drifting aimlessly. The clarity that comes from planning even the smallest steps is invaluable.

Characters became more than names on a page. They took on forms, voices, and quirks that made them feel real. I understood that introducing a character at the end of the story weakens the narrative. Each character needs a purpose, a role in the unfolding events, and a connection to the plot. Their presence must be intentional, their actions deliberate, and their growth visible.

The setting emerged as another powerful tool. I learned to consider more than just the physical space. The time of day, the weather, the social conditions, and the mood all paint the atmosphere for the story. The right setting can enhance the tension at the climax or soften the emotions at the resolution. I realized that the world surrounding the characters is almost another character itself, shaping the choices they make and the paths they take.

Style is where my own voice shines. I discovered that although we all work on the same topic, our stories can sound entirely different. Each sentence carries a rhythm, each word chosen carefully to create an effect. I appreciated the idea that writing is as much about personality as it is about structure. My style may bend the rules, but it must never compromise clarity or purpose.

What resonated with me the most is the importance of taking baby steps. Planning is essential, but flexibility allows creativity to flourish. Even as we begin writing, there is always room to revisit and revise the plan. I understood that deviation is not failure, but part of the creative process. Reflection, planning, drafting, and editing are all steps that work together to transform a simple idea into a rich narrative.

By the end of the week, I felt more confident in my approach to narrative writing. The story is no longer a daunting task. It is a living process where characters breathe, settings expand, plots develop, and style becomes my signature. I am ready to continue taking baby steps, refining my craft, and exploring the endless possibilities that each new story brings. Niola Patrice!

 

This post specifically  reflects on my experience in LIT 102, this course has significantly shaped my understanding of narrative writing and the importance of style in crafting compelling stories. 

✨ “Writing is a journey, not a destination.” — E. M. Forster.

Unpacking Narrative Elements
·       Setting: More than just a backdrop. ·       Characters: Believable individuals with motivations. ·       Beginning: Hooking the reader from the start. ·       Middle: Developing conflict and rising action. ·       End: Resolution and reflection.	Today's lesson  provided a framework for understanding the essential elements of narrative writing. We explored how the setting could function as a character, influencing the plot and the characters' decisions. We analyzed how to create compelling characters with depth and motivations, moving beyond simple archetypes.
The Essence of Style: Finding Your Voice

One of the most profound takeaways from today lesson  was the understanding of 'style' as a writer's unique voice. It's not merely about adhering to grammatical rules, but about developing a distinctive way of expressing oneself through language. I was in my chair visualising  the  different tones, sentence structures, and narrative perspectives to discover what resonated most authentically with our individual voices.

Teacher Efficacy and the Power of Modeling

Our instructor depicted her efficacy in the subject area by smoothly and fluently addressing our queries, concerns and misconceptions,( ha ,ha), creating a supportive and encouraging learning environment. She provided constructive feedback, fostering a growth mindset . This really takes me back to thinking aboit meaningful feedback with the students when it comes to writing , am linking it to conferencing . Seeing a skilled teacher demystified the writing process and empowered us to take risks and experiment with our own writing.

The Significance of Pre-Writing

The class emphasized the crucial role of pre-writing in the writing process. Brainstorming, outlining, and freewriting were presented as essential tools for generating ideas and structuring narratives. These activities helped us overcome writer's block and develop a clear vision for our stories before putting pen to paper.

The Spark of Lively Discussions

Lively classroom discussions were a hallmark in this lesson. Sharing our work and engaging in thoughtful critique allowed us to learn from each other's experiences and perspectives. These discussions broadened our understanding of narrative techniques and helped us refine our own writing.

Collaborative Inspiration

Collaborative learning played a significant role in my growth as  a writer .

“Writing is a journey, not a destination.” — E. M. Forster

This quote encapsulates the spirit of LIT 102. The course instilled in me a love for the writing process and an understanding that becoming a skilled writer is a continuous journey of learning, experimentation, and self-discovery. It reinforced the idea that writing is not about achieving perfection, but about embracing the process of exploration and growth.

Key Takeaways

Todays lesson  was transformative. It provided a solid foundation in narrative writing techniques, fostered a deep appreciation for the power of style, and instilled a lifelong love for the craft. It also highlighted the importance of teacher efficacy, pre-writing strategies, lively discussions, and collaborative learning in creating a rich and rewarding writing experience. The lessons learned will undoubtedly inform my own teaching practice and inspire me to create similar opportunities for my future students.

 

Reshana Britton

"When Words Begin to Move: My Growth from Descriptive to Narrative Writing”

The  buzz of morning chattering filled the classroom as I opened my computer and waited for the lesson to begin. The chill of the air condition in the room filled every tiny air space, touching the edge of my page like paint. That moment felt ordinary, but as our lecturer began speaking, it became something more. Today, we were continuing our work in descriptive writing and suddenly I began to see writing not just as words on paper, but as a doorway into experience.

As we discussed sensory details, I realised how much power there is in slowing down and paying attention. When I describe the bustling of the Victoria bus stand in the Terminal at a rush hour on evenings, I am not simply naming things I am transporting the reader. I learned that description is about helping someone feel what you felt, as if they were standing with you in that exact moment. Words can make the page breathe  if we let them. I quickly thought of my students in my classroom, all the possibilities of how  I could let my them describe a familiar object from their lunch bags a mango, a bun, a soft drink  and show them how description begins in the simple and ordinary. From there, we build voice.

Then came the shift from describing moments to telling full stories. Our lecturer guided us into narrative writing, and I felt that same excitement rise again. Narrative writing adds movement, characters, and purpose. It turns a moment into a journey. I learned that narratives could be true or imagined a story from my grandmother’s childhood in De Villa, or a made-up tale about a talking parrot saving a fisherman at sea. That sense of possibility reminded me that stories help students reflect, invent, and make meaning.

The framework of narrative writing made sense to me immediately. The plot gives shape. The characters give life. The setting gives colour. The theme gives the lesson. I pictured myself using this in my classroom maybe by letting students draw “story maps” of their ideas, then turning those maps into written adventures. It felt exciting to imagine their pride when their stories come to life.

As I reflect on this week, I see more clearly that descriptive and narrative writing are not separate skills they are two sides of the same craft. Description paints the scene. Narrative gives that scene breath and direction. One shows, the other moves. When they work together, writing becomes not only meaningful, but memorable.

When I closed my computer at the end of class, the sunlight was still there glowing just as it did in the morning. And I realised that is exactly how writing works: a bright idea might begin small, but with the right guidance, it can light up the whole page.

 

 

 

Reflection

This activity helped me grow as a writer and as a future teacher. Before this experience, I believed writing was mainly about putting sentences together in a correct way. Now I understand that writing is a process of crafting images, shaping meaning, and guiding the reader through emotion and experience. I also realised how much descriptive techniques strengthen narrative, because strong stories are built on clear pictures and vivid details. This growth will influence my teaching practice, because I now see the importance of modelling both descriptive language and narrative structure in meaningful ways for my students.

 

How I Would Teach This In My Classroom

In the classroom, I would introduce descriptive writing first by letting students describe familiar Caribbean objects and experiences, such as a mango, a rainy afternoon, or a beach in Grenada. After building this foundation, I would then guide them into narrative writing by allowing them to turn one strong descriptive image into a full story. For example, if a student described the taste of a mango, they could then write a narrative about how they climbed the tree to get it. This approach will allow students to see the natural link between descriptive showing and narrative telling, while building confidence and imagination step-by-step.

“From Familiar Ground to Deeper Insight”

I walked into this week’s LIT session expecting a refresher. After all, I had taught descriptive and narrative writing to my Grade 3 students for years. I knew the definitions, the anchor charts, the prompts. How to use adjectives, similes, and sensory details to bring their writing to life. But this time, the lesson felt different, slower and deeper. I was not just reviewing; I did not anticipate how deeply the lesson would reach into my own practice, tugging at memories I had not revisited in a while.

As I moved through the planning questions for my descriptive piece, "What do I want to describe? What do I want the reader to feel?"—I found myself lingering longer than usual. Using similes, metaphors, and sensory details felt like learning to see again—not just the surface, but the emotion beneath it. That shift—from describing to evoking—was a turning point in how I understood my own teaching of writing.

And then came the guilt.

It crept in quietly, like a shadow at the edge of the page. I thought about all the times I had told my students, “Add more detail,” or “Use imagery so I can see it,” without truly modeling what that meant. I had asked for vulnerability without guiding them through it. That realization stung—but it also opened something.

As I revised my piece, I began to understand that good descriptive writing is not about piling on adjectives. It is about choosing words that carry emotional weight and invite the reader into a moment and about writing with purpose.

Later in the week, we explored narrative writing. Again, the content was familiar—plot, character, setting, conflict. But this time, I saw those elements not just as technical tools, but as emotional anchors. They were not just parts of a story, they were how we make sense of experience. That shift from structure to significance was subtle but powerful.

One of the most practical takeaways was the focus on organization. Whether using spatial order to describe a place or time order to narrate an experience, I saw how structure can support clarity without limiting creativity. It gave me confidence to take risks, knowing I had a framework to guide me.

If I could change one thing, I would ask for more opportunities to hear my colleagues’ writing. When someone shared their piece, I leaned in—not just to their words, but to their thinking. Their choices. Their voice. It reminded me how powerful the author’s chair can be, and how much our students need those spaces  and opportunities too.

By the end of the week, I was not just revisiting old content. I was relearning how to write with intention. Every sentence, every detail, became a choice. And in making those choices, I was not just completing a task—I was expressing something real. For my past students writing narrative and descriptive pieces seemed confusing as they often confused one for the other. Here is a link to differentiate the two more distinctly. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LMfZZYzV5m8

Writing, as I have realized, is both craft and courage. And this week, I practiced both.

My Journey from Descriptive to Narrative Writing

 

My Journey from Descriptive to Narrative Writing

The morning sunlight streamed through the classroom window, painting golden lines across my notebook. As I flipped to a new page, I felt a tingle of excitement. Today, we continued our journey into descriptive writing. My lecturer’s voice filled the room, steady and purposeful, reminding us that good writing does not just tell, it shows. Those words echoed in my mind like a gentle challenge. I had always thought that writing was about explaining things clearly, but now I realized it was also about making the reader feel what I felt, see what I saw, and experience the world through my words.

We began by exploring the power of sensory details and how a single image or smell could bring a scene to life. I remember writing about a rainy afternoon: the whisper of raindrops against the zinc roof, the earthy scent rising from the soaked ground, and the soft chill that wrapped itself around my skin like a damp blanket. When I reread it, I smiled. It was no longer just a description; it was an experience. That day, I learned that language has texture, and when used wisely, it breathes emotion into words.

Our discussion then deepened into the different types of descriptive writing, such as remembrances, observations, and vignettes. Each form felt like a window into a different kind of storytelling. I imagined using remembrance writing in the classroom to have students describe their first day of school, helping them connect emotion to expression. Observation writing, on the other hand, could train them to slow down and notice details, such as a fluttering leaf, the smell of crayons, or the sound of laughter echoing in the hallway. I realized that these techniques were not just about writing beautifully but about seeing the world more carefully.

We also explored descriptive techniques that included vivid verbs, imagery, metaphors, similes, and mood. It fascinated me how one strong verb could replace a whole sentence of plain explanation. Instead of writing the boy ran quickly, I could say the boy darted through the corridor, and suddenly, the image came alive. Yet, I learned another valuable lesson, which was to use the senses wisely. It is easy to overfill a piece with description until it becomes heavy and overwhelming. Sometimes, telling is just as necessary as showing. That balance, I realized, is what makes writing truly artful.

Then came the transition, like turning a page in a story, from descriptive to narrative writing. My lecturer described narrative writing as the art of telling a story, whether real or imagined. We explored different types, such as imaginary, factual, and a blend of both, and I felt a spark of curiosity. Narratives could be anything: a mystery, a fable, a science fiction story, or even a moment from my own life. The possibilities stretched endlessly, and I could already picture my future students smiling as they created stories about brave animals, family adventures, or lessons they had learned.

The structure of narrative writing fascinated me most. It was like building a house. The plot was the foundation, the characters the walls, the setting the windows, and the theme the roof that held everything together. I imagined teaching this to my class by letting them create their own story houses, labeling each part, and then filling it with imaginative details. It would be a playful yet meaningful way to help them understand how stories work.

Looking back, this week felt like a bridge connecting two worlds: the world of showing through description and the world of telling through narrative. Together, they form the heart of good writing. I left class that day feeling excited and responsible. As a future teacher, I wanted to inspire my students not only to write, but also to see, feel, and believe in the power of words.

When I closed my notebook, I thought again of the golden sunlight from the morning. Just as light transforms a simple room, descriptive and narrative writing have the power to transform simple ideas into unforgettable stories. That, I realized, is the true beauty of learning to write.

What Writing Taught Me About Teaching Writing

 The classroom smelled of pencil shavings and warm paper, that quiet, ordinary scent that somehow holds the promise of beginnings. I picked a topic from the list and set my pencil down like a cautious traveler on the lip of a new map, feeling the small, familiar flutter of questions—Where do I start? Free-write or plan?  Which organizer will hold these thoughts before they slip away? Those questions felt like stones in my pocket.

Pre-writing became a shoreline of small treasures. I gathered ideas like shells: some smooth and obvious, others jagged and worth turning over. The choices were tactile and slow: testing a word here, nudging an image there, listening to the small, loud voice that asked for permission to expand. Time stretched and folded; planning became the bridge I built one careful plank at a time.

Drafting warmed the page beneath my hand. Sentences arrived like footsteps across a wooden floor—some tentative, some long and sure—finding their rhythm when I read them silently. Revision felt like opening a window in a dim room: I traded plain verbs for ones that smelled of heat and color, changed a hallway into “a river of lockers” and a mango into “sun-warmed flesh dripping honey on the tongue.” Each careful edit let the scene breathe a little easier.

Editing was the tiny, patient work that makes my piece behave: commas coaxed into place, capitals steadying the first word of a new thought. Even after those small triumphs, doubt lurked—Is this ready to be shown? Did I miss a limp sentence or a stray comma? That unease felt weighty and familiar, the same pressure I have watched pin students to their seats as the clock looped down. Will I be finished in time? Then the teacher reminded me that I do not need to be finished. Writing is a process, not a product. I felt a flush of embarrassment as I pondered on how often I have hurried students through this work—nudging them to “finish by the end of the lesson,” trading depth for a tidy stack of papers. How many times have I clipped their thinking with the bell, pushed them past the messy middle, or chosen completion over craft? That admission changed me: urgency no longer feels like efficiency but like a theft of time students need to grow.

Hearing classmates read their pieces brought the room into multiple lights. One piece glowed with spare, careful light; another tumbled and spilled colour and noise. A single gentle suggestion brightened a paragraph; naming one vivid image straightened a writer’s shoulders. Sharing did more than improve drafts—it taught listeners how to actively listen and give constructive feedback, and authors how to see their own work through another’s eyes.

By the end, empathy settled over me like a warm cardigan. I remembered the times I had urged speed over thought, given prompts that narrowed rather than opened. The messy, time-consuming labour of my own composing made clear what my students need: time to gather, real choices to try, a teacher who shows the backstage moves and then steps back with a lantern in hand.

So my charts will remain on the wall, but they will be lanterns, not commandments. I will slow my talk, place three real pre-writing options where hands can touch them, model one clear move, and then watch—checklist in hand not to judge but to notice where a student’s foot finds purchase or slips. In that quieter space, the classroom becomes a shared landscape:  lanterns guide hands across the map, each hesitant step welcomed, and the patient, beautiful work of writing is taught and treasured.

See you next week!

Anique