Did I Create the Process? Or Did

the Process Create Me?

JAYDELLE CELESTINE

Produced in Nathan Holic’s Spring 2017 ENC 1101

I’m at my desk in my dorm finishing breakfast and I don’t really know where to start. It is a

breakthroughs I’ve made. What is happening, I soon realize, is the beginning of a beautiful story

that culminates at this stage in my life and reveals the factors of which make me the writer I am

today.

At this moment I have the entire dorm to myself. This is the ideal setting for me. Over the

years I have definitely been able to produce most of my best work this way, in seclusion. I raise my

hands to type, and a truck pulls up rumbling loudly outside for what seems like forever. I could

never focus in uproar, especially when I remember how my process started as a child and the role

my mother had in that process.

I believe my mom is the primary catalyst as to the affinity I’ve developed when it comes to

both reading and writing. At that point in time, she worked at our local library, which was very

she created for me, and it definitely stayed with me more than I thought throughout my life as well.

As I got older, I chose my books while I waited in that same room and my imagination

slowly broadened. You would think it stopped there, but it didn’t. Most of my gifts as a young boy

growing up included toys, but it mainly consisted of books. A book then became my favorite gift. I

preferred it above all else (well, not counting the occasional twenty-dollar bill that would fall out of

my birthday and Christmas cards). As time progressed, it was books like Goosebumps, Robin Hood,

Frankenstein, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Time Machine and countless others that inspired me to

become a storyteller of my own one day. Those books had me writing all sorts of idle short stories

whenever I could as a result.

sturdy mahogany desk near the window, as well as a huge shelf on the left that climbed upwards of

four levels, housing books, board games and VHS cassettes of my early childhood.

I literally had nothing to do on the computer that day: I opened and closed browsers,

googled all sorts of nonsense that came to mind, found nothing interesting on YouTube. And so I

made my way to Facebook. Well that was initially an effort in futility as well; there was nothing

fascinating happening there either. Generally, it was just people complaining about life and asking

questions to engage comments, such as, “Who’d you rather, Rihanna or Beyoncé?” and a couple of

interesting pictures sprinkled in between the timeline to break up the monotony.

telling her rather directly that he couldn’t do this

anymore (whatever this was). After snapping

myself out of watching that tragedy, I was gazing

at our airport out of the study window at the lone

British Airways flight that remained the night

prior, and my mind ran on my family in England.

Turning around at the TV once more, there was an advertisement now of a new Beauty &

the Beast DVD in HD or something like that. I told myself that women always needed saving, that

they were always perceived as “damsels in distress” and someone needs to do something about

that. Men are not always the bad guys, or the “beasts” they’re most times made out to be.

that she orchestrated the entire thing. It took me a while to really get it all together. I knew what I

wanted to do, but I had never done a written piece in that format and especially on a forum like

Facebook.

I would usually try to isolate myself away from any distraction, give myself a time frame to

work with, draft my thoughts via pen and paper, proofread, type out my final product, review and

do whatever necessary after. This was different, and a new turning point happened that would

slightly alter how I approached writing. I just typed as the words came, paused occasionally, read it

over and made slight changes. What eventually continued happening in that moment was I tried to

type so fast as the ideas came. It was like I didn’t want to stop for fear of losing the ideas through

the momentum.

Ms. Patrick is always in my head now, anytime I write something, always coaching and

constantly criticizing. I always try to live up to her expectations because she always believed and

fed my potential. However, I would then head back to the computer and find myself googling stuff

again, trying to listen to music (which helped, but later on in life would just become a distraction),

and then heading back in an attempt to finish the piece. I did finish. I started around 9 am and was

able to post it a little before noon. That has always affected me in my writing going forward, as that

ritualistic fashion of starting and then straying or procrastinating has stayed with me to this day, a

process that was nowhere near the habits I had in secondary school.

After all was said and done, I was able to hit the post button of my short story, and received

much more feedback than I anticipated. People actually read it and I felt pretty good. They didn’t

just hit the “like” button, but some commented too, on my seven-paragraph story born out of

idleness. Ms. Patrick would be proud. It felt much longer after having read the finished product, but

who I am in my writing, to this day.

Here enters this professionally clad lady on a sunny morning in January of 2001. She was

about 5’7”, walking slowly but proudly, holding the edges of her black jacket. She wore a hairstyle

reminiscent of Scary Spice from the Spice Girls, and had way too much makeup on. She chewed her

gum vigorously as though anxiously awaiting something to happen and wore a smile that

accentuated how badly she had lined her lips. Her mouth opened and surprised everyone with a

deep and boisterous, “Good Morning, boys!” and received the echoes of us all in the room as we

stood and greeted her back. “I am Angela Patrick, your English A Teacher. Please have your seats.”

Ms. Patrick was both the worst and the best English teacher I’ve ever had. She pushed you to

your limit, especially as far as being creative was concerned. Not only did she love a good piece of

writing, she spoke and breathed it as well. Anyone from the class of ’06 could tell you that she could

an 18/25, it was cause for mass celebration. Her main gripe was never punctuation; rather, it was

pulling out of us the potential she knew was there. She emphasized content, helping the audience

live vicariously through our work. She expected nothing less.

There was one instance I remember her coming to class in her usual mid-morning slot and

spontaneously giving us one of her infamous “Short Story” assignments. However, this experience

was different, because generally what accompanied those assignments were at least five topics to

choose from. This time, we were on our own to choose whatever we wanted, and have it completed

by the end of our 40-minute class session. Knowing what Ms. Patrick expected, the pressure was on.

Everything had to be perfect, from introduction through the body and wrapping it up at the end.

This was a bit difficult to do. As a 15- or 16-year-old student, you were already accustomed

again, this pesky noise issue following me, and I had no control over it. I couldn’t come up with

anything.

Before we knew it, the bell rung and students started fussing about who wasn’t finished,

who had nothing and if we could complete it for homework. Unknown to everyone, the joke was on

us and Ms. Patrick was going to have the last laugh. She told us that this wasn’t a graded

assignment, and we all stared in shock. Her response in turn was this: “You boys have to learn that

there would be times when you’re asked to pull from you, not have someone pull from yourselves,

for you.” In hindsight it made sense, but back then it felt like the worst thing ever. She asked

I’ve realized while typing this that what it means for me to produce an effective written

piece has changed over time and has been heavily tied in part to my environment, which in turn

affects my writing habits. From writing short stories as a child in a primary school of over three

hundred, that lacked partitions between classes and having no sense of strict time for the

assignments. To essays and assessments of varying degrees in a more organized secondary school,

but with three times the students, a stricter time rule and set revision pattern. To now, an actually

structured research essay, rigid citation

guidelines and projects while at the mammoth of

a school that is UCF, but where you as the student

know the exact reason why those habits changed,

but I’m sure it has something to do with what

each of my teachers required at those various

In primary school we didn’t know better,

but we had more freedom to express ourselves with just a tad bit of guidance into associating with

the norm. I was never as productive as I could be surrounded by distraction, though, as I remember

my mom clearly telling me that my teachers back then said. I would rip my paper up and put my

hand over my ears when I wrote something; noise and I just weren’t the best of friends. My teachers

would, however (with the best of intentions I’m sure), tell me how it’s supposed to be done and

make sure I did so accordingly.

In secondary school, a defined structure was given, and we had to navigate how to produce

our best piece of work within a more firm time frame and very formal setting. That period of time in

particular was annoying because there wasn’t only chaos to worry about in an all boy school; you

You were in charge of you, and the environment was much different now as you returned to a mix

of co-ed students, who were free to skip class at their choosing and a host of other unproductive

choices to choose from. As spacious as the campus was, noise was still everywhere. By now you

would think I’d be able to navigate through the distraction of others given I’ve been prepped for it

all of my life, but I still wasn’t. You would also think that being from a culture whereby the people

naturally talk at more elevated levels, I could deal with that too, but it proved challenging.

As a culture in the Caribbean, we tend to be loud, dramatic and very descriptive with how

we communicate, and it rolled over into teachings at home and in the classroom. To give you a

better idea, we don’t just say, “Take a left and around the corner there’s a red building, that’s your

destination.” We might say, “Take a left and look for a tall tree that’s bent slightly as though it has

My island itself—Grenada—is rather small. We’re about 133 square miles and our

population is approximately 106,000. We have sparkling blue waters, clear skies, sunny days and

friendly people. We are but one of the many gems the Caribbean has to offer. Coming from a small

island, you tend to either run the risk of (1) not being heard of, (2) mistaken for somewhere else, or

(3) having to find some trait that stands out so you can inject yourself into a conversation to let

people know that they may in fact know who you are.

Our families and communities are tight-knit. Everyone knows everyone (both a gift and a

curse) and in the rare instances you don’t know someone, they know you (generally by parentage).

Coming from a smaller island in the Caribbean also affords a loose version of the “Napoleon

Complex.” We feel the need to overcompensate, as we aren’t recognized on the same level as

everyone else. Growing up in this environment instilled a sense of pride whenever an islander

received positive international recognition, and reinforced that no matter how small we might be

that we should always be especially proud of our heritage.

anymore.

Walking through the Student Union was the best feeling for me; I saw the flags of countries

that represented the nationalities of UCF’s student population. Anxiously looking for mine (I

couldn’t be the only Grenadian here); I was left with the disappointment that my flag wasn’t there. I

probably looked like a madman pacing back and forth looking through each row just to be certain,

and taking pictures on top of that too. After confirming what was inevitably true, I walked away and

decided I would fix that. But how would I? I would fix it through one of my most favorite mediums:

writing.

In January 2017, I spoke to a polite young lady at the Guest Services Desk at the Student

Union, and asked her who the best person was to speak to regarding the issue of my flag. She

conveying an effective message one must know how to appeal to the senses of whom they are

speaking to. This allowed me through my email, to further confirm the good work that UCF has

been doing over the years by touching on its efficiency, as well as acknowledging how large and

diverse a school it indeed is and the people that continue to make it that way by how helpful they

are. However, I also conveyed the absence I felt from that diversity when I noticed my flag wasn’t

there, and that I felt my culture wasn’t recognized on the level it should be with everyone else.

Being able to speak up helped serve as a catalyst to effect this change I wanted, through a written

piece.

Maybe if I wasn’t literate enough, or didn’t have the experience of writing so many essays in

felt a week or two later, when, while walking

through the Student Union, I found my country’s

flag. I immediately felt a sense of accomplishment. I

did that. I texted my mom and then my best friends

back home, and I posted it on my social media to

overwhelmingly positive, private and public

feedback. This was a writing success for me, one

that I would never forget; I automatically look up

every time I pass through the Student Union at my

flag, smiling every time. Had it not been for the way

wasn’t in a formal environment. I was actually typing that email in transit to my next class, timing

myself as I typed and I still produced an effective piece that got me what I wanted. Before, I needed

absolute quiet to focus and produce my best work. Now that didn’t even apply for me to effectively

get what I wanted. I was surrounded by students and chatter, but what made that situation

different than the rest? Maybe this was Ms. Patrick at work again, taking lessons learned from her

class about time management and efficiency. At this university, most correspondence is sent via

email during the day. One may not have the time to get to a library or a controlled environment, sit,

and gather their thoughts and type. One has to be flexible enough to do it on the go sometimes,

maximizing both time and efficiency, especially to effectively attain the result they want.

I don’t know why I prefer being in complete solitude when it isn’t needed to necessarily

myself easily sidetracked, getting up ever so often and looking for excuses to procrastinate. Does

that help? Sometimes it does and I focus much better, but other times I can’t and I don’t really know

why. Now I understand it to a degree. Presently, I am adjusting to working in varied noise levels

and am making progress. I won’t always find absolute seclusion as experienced in the past, so that

habit may not be the best for maximizing efficiency. I don’t like the fact that I completely abandon

whatever I’m doing whenever I get stuck creatively in general either, but I’ve been doing it for so

long that it’s become part of who I am. It just feels like I waste so much time when I do so, and I

must improve that before it consumes me.

Why am I so easily distracted? I still can’t give a concrete answer for that no matter how

is an ideal situation for my writing processes, but I’ve found that I adapt to suit. Do I have a

preference? Of course I do, and as I’m learning right now as there are people chatting in the living

room and listening to music, I modify, but won’t forsake the quality of my work because of it.

It’s phenomenal coming to the realization that the seed for me preferring the silence of my

environment may have been planted from the days of when I visited my mom after primary school.

That helped cultivate my reading, thinking, and writing habits. It has apparently been a common

denominator throughout various aspects of my writing life as well. It played a huge part in my

Facebook short story’s success, but it made me struggle in my secondary school life because the

environment wasn’t in my control. When I wrote my short story, it also helped add another layer to

my habit, which was typing my thoughts instead of jotting by pen, and allowing me to free my

In primary school and college, I was still constrained by my environment. I was even more

frustrated with the latter, because here I was in a situation where I should be able to change it, but

couldn’t. In a funny way, it’s as though I was trying to rebel. I’ve been doing things by the standard

of others for too long, even if it has helped me to some extent create my own process and become a

better writer.

At UCF, I’ve discovered I can be effective without being tied to a chair, or with what I

identified as a distraction for the majority of my life: noise. I can write effectively on the go and not

in the ideal surroundings, because I choose to. Where I am also influences how I write and my

thought process. With my Facebook story I had no one in authority judging me. I did it according to

my own standards and was successful at it because in part my audience was different. I may still

much as the demands of my process can hold me back, it has made me better, and as much as it

frustrates me, it relieves me. I am a bit more conscious of it now than I was then. It will never stay

stagnant. I know that as I continue to grow, it will continue to change. It is undoubtedly part of who

I am as a writer today, and now instead of fearing the journey, I embrace it and what it’s done for

me.

I have many more questions than answers right now. When will I see new writing habits

form? Have they already started and I don’t know? Will it be more challenging now than before?

How much of it will affect what I’ve learned up until now? Is my environment going to help me or

hold me back as a result? Not knowing what the answers are for these questions puts the fear of

God in me, yet excites me at the same time. It makes me more cognizant of my current habits and

behavioral patterns every time I’m about to engage in a piece of writing. What fascinates me even

Jaydelle Celestine was born in the Caribbean on an island called Grenada.

Jaydelle is in the process of obtaining his Bachelor’s Degree in Event

Management at the Rosen College of Hospitality Management. Jaydelle also

spent the past seven years as a Member Service Representative at the

Grenada Public Service Co-operative Credit Union Ltd. Jaydelle is a member

of the National Society of Minorities in Hospitality and the Rosen College

Leadership Council. Jaydelle enjoys giving back to the community and spent

seven years of his life in the Rotaract Club of Grenada, where he served as

Club Service Director for the year 2012-2013 and captured Director of the

Year for that year and his committee secured Committee of the Year as well.

Jaydelle is very passionate about the arts; he does commercial modeling and

acting when he can and is currently represented by Manikin Talent Agency,