This whole site is secretly a point-of-view masterclass. Here's how to use it as one.
Point of view is the hardest craft skill to teach from theory, because it only becomes visible in contrast. One narrator describing a first date teaches you nothing about voice. Nineteen different minds describing the same first date teaches you everything: what each voice notices, what it cannot see, how its sentences move, where its blind spots turn into comedy or grief.
That contrast is the entire design of this site. Every scene here is written through many radically different perspectives, and each perspective is built from four craft decisions you can steal: a voice (who is speaking), what it notices (what its attention snags on), what it is blind to (the gaps that make it human, or alien), and a form (how its sentences physically behave). Change any one of the four and the same scene becomes a different story.
Read one scene through two wildly different eyes, say, the house cat and the lingering ghost. Then take a paragraph you have already written and rewrite it in each of those two voices. Notice which details survive both rewrites: those are the load-bearing facts of your scene. Everything else was voice.
Every strong narrator is defined as much by what they cannot see as by what they can. Pick any card and list three things the character failed to understand about the scene. Then give your own narrator, in your own story, one comparable blindness, and let it shape what they get wrong. Unreliable narration, taught in one move.
A classic workshop assignment, with examples on tap: write one ordinary moment (a bus stop, a kitchen, a waiting room) twice, from two perspectives that disagree about what the moment means. The lens changes the meaning, never the facts. When students protest that nothing happens in an ordinary moment, show them what an old rock does with a traffic jam.
Everything here is free to read and free to project on a classroom screen. Cards are short enough to read aloud in under two minutes, PG-13 by hard rule, and written to be compared. A simple format that works: read two takes on one scene aloud, ask "what did each narrator notice first?", then send everyone off to write the third take, as themselves, aged ninety. (That one is the future self's job here, and students reliably out-write it.)
The full cast is on the front page. If you use this with a class and it works, or doesn't, we would genuinely love to hear how.