The Ring

Forty-five minutes had passed and not a single call. Nights like this made Julian mad because, like everyone else, he relied on every penny. He wasn’t always a cab driver. He had come from a village with gravel roads, two-way streets and one working traffic light. A few job applications later, he was holding the keys to a company van with Coroner stickers on it. For eleven years, he had carried dead bodies.

A dog’s bark interrupted Julian’s thoughts. He opened the window and shivered. It seemed colder than expected for an early fall, and a layer of thin frost had already covered the ground.

The dispatcher’s voice boomed through the CB radio breaking the silence and startling Julian. “I need someone at 2117 David Drive.”

Julian reached for the microphone. “201. I am close.”

“10/4,” the dispatcher’s voice scratched through the line.

Julian turned onto the poorly illuminated one-way street when the dispatcher’s voice rumbled again. “201, David Drive canceled.”


“Sorry about that,” the dispatcher apologized.

Julian shook his head and made a turn for the main road.

A woman emerged from the cemetery and flagged the approaching cab. She seemed young – dark hair, immaculately dressed. Quite attractive from what Julian could tell. The whitest skin he had ever seen.

Probably one of those supermodels—doesn’t want to be seen in public.

“River Road, please,” she said settling into the passenger’s seat.

A foul smell entered the cab and Julian grimaced. “What number?” he asked throwing the car into gear.

She seemed puzzled. “What?”

“The number… on River Road?”

“Oh… um… I’ll show you,” she said then turned toward the window. Clearly she wasn’t interested in talking.

Julian opened his window to get rid of the familiar stench. Though he had been in close contact with dead bodies, he could never grow accustomed to the smell.

“I hope my window doesn’t bother you. Probably some dead animal that has drowned in the canal.” The young woman nodded but remained silent.


“You can drop me over there,” she said pointing to an empty parking lot.

Julian cocked an eyebrow, knowing that the factory had closed a while ago. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she replied, searching for something in her purse. “I think I lost my wallet.” She pulled a ring off her finger. “Here, take my ring, and I’ll pay you tomorrow,” she said, holding out her ring.

“I-I can’t take your ring.”

She searched her purse again and pulling out a piece of paper and a pen, she scribbled something. “Here is my address,” she said placing the ring on it and exiting the car before Julian could protest.

Is she ill? Julian wondered. What is she doing here in the middle of the night?


In the morning, he pulled in front of a house, proceeded down the narrow walkway and knocked on the door. A young man still in his pajamas, answered.

“Hi, may I help you?” he asked.

“Um…” Julian realized that he didn’t know the woman’s name. “I am looking for a young lady—”

“Sorry, you have the wrong address.”

“Is this 2117 David Drive?” A jolt of anger struck Julian when he realized that this was the same address that had canceled his order the night before.

“Yup, but I live alone.”

“The woman… Um… I am a cab driver—” Julian stuttered.

“Look, man, I’m tired.” The young man turned to go back inside.

“No. Wait. I gave a ride to a woman, but she couldn’t pay so she insisted that I take her ring and return it today.” Julian revealed the ring.

The young man looked at the ring in Julian’s palm and took a quick step back. His face became white and the next time he spoke his voice seemed obstructed.

“W-where did you get that?”

“I told you—”

“That’s impossible,” he interrupted. “That’s my wife’s!”

“Look. I didn’t mean to—”

The man paced back and forth. “Jody died a year ago.”

“Say what?” Julian could swear his hearing played tricks on him.

“Jody died in that stupid factory.”

“Man, stop playing with me. I just want my money.” The words crawling upward from the depth of his throat sounded more like a growl.

“I am not… playing! I swear.”

Instantly, Julian felt sick. A buzzing sound vibrated in his ears. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. The world shook and then went deathly still as he crumpled forward.

What you should know about POV?



As I’ve mentioned before, writing a book is an art. It takes more than telling a story; more than writing words on paper; even more than the back-breaking work you have to put in it from start to finish.

In this article, I’ll talk about POV—point of view. What is a point of view and why is it important to your story.

Point of view in literature is a window through which the reader sees, hears, feels and smells the story. Setting the POV is entirely up to the author.

There are three types of POVs, but only two of them are regularly used .


  • First-person POV—the author narrates the story with the pronoun I or We. In other words, the reader can only hear, see, feel, and smell what I or We can hear, see, feel, and smell. 

Example: Ica Iova’s, Unsung Victims. The story is seen exclusively through Johanna’s eyes. The reader only gets to see, hear, feel, and smell what Johanna sees, hears, feels, or smells.

~ I felt pleased and troubled in the same breath. My own image—aged image—gazed back at me from the mirror. Maybe not so much aged as soul-tired. Heartbroken. Blond wisps spilling out from a loose ponytail and a pair of sluggish blue eyes crafted the image of a worn-out figure. ~ Johanna’s POV ~


  • Second-person POV—the author speaks directly to the reader. This POV is relatively uncommon. However, some authors have employed it efficiently.

Example: Italo Calvino’s If On A Winter’s Night A Traveller.  The author speaks directly to the reader.

~You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino’s new novel, If on a winter’s night a traveller. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade. Best to close the door; the TV is always on in the next room. Tell the others right away, “No, I don’t want to watch TV!” Raise your voice—they won’t hear you otherwise…~ Italo Calvino ~


  • Third-person POV—the author narrates the story through a third-person’s eyes. Here, the author may choose a third-person omniscient POV, where the thoughts and senses of every character are open to the reader, or third-person limited, where only one character’s mind and senses are accessible by the reader.

Example: Ica Iova’s, Boundaries. More than one character’s POV is open to the reader. The following example is one scene containing two POVs separated by a paragraph break.

~ To her dismay, through all that darkness, she thought she saw the gleaming light of determination intensifying in his eyes. She realized that this was it. He had used every tool in his considerable arsenal to seduce her. And she’d be damned if she didn’t let him have it his way. ~ Gabriela’s POV ~


~ He could probably pull together more rational reasons, but the two years they’d been apart, had made him recognize what was important in life, and it wasn’t defending stupid criminals. ~ Landon’s POV ~


Writing from multiple points of views is my favorite because I can switch back and forth between characters—I can allow each character to express their thoughts and emotions.

However, writing from more than one POV can be tricky and distracting to the reader. The author must be very careful to keep the story focused. Each character must wait for their turn to have the podium so they don’t clutter and confuse the plotline, pacing, and ultimately the reader.

Yes, you can write stories in all three types of POVs, as long as you remember these two simple rules:  a) write in the POV that makes you comfortable; b) if you write in third-person omniscient POV, insert breaks between POVs—either paragraph breaks or chapter breaks.



Mark your calendar.


Are you ready for some Halloween fun with me, Award Winning Indie Author Ica Iova? Join Lisa and Linda for their debut show on BlogTalkRadio Oct 29 @ 10pm CST where they will be talking all things paranormal. They will also have open lines so you can share your scary stories with them.


And, yes, I will be there to share with you my stories about the unexplained.

Have a spooktacular

Have a Spooktacular Halloween with Lisa, Linda, and Ica

Good News and Better News


Yesterday I received a snail-mail letter from a publisher. Of course, as usual, I had a thousand other things to do and I forgot about it. However, I opened it today, and guess what? They will publish one of my short stories in a collection of short stories written by Canadians titled “Wherever We Roam”. Oh, and one more thing, the book will become part of the national collection at Library and Archives Canada for preservation in Canada’s documentary history. Naturally, now is happy-dancing round the house… and maybe a glass of champagne later tonight. Yey to me!

The Creature In The Woods



Copyright © 2012 by Ica Iova




Once Joseph stepped out in the rain, he breathed a sigh of relief; the school was finally over. In the fall, he would go to high school. Play with the big boys. He sighed and decided to take a shortcut through the woods. The absence of traffic and the serene backdrop allowed him to consider all the things he could do over the summer. Early in the spring his parents had split up, and this year it didn’t look like either one of them was up for an out of town vacation.

The sound of heavy footsteps on crunching leaves interrupted his thoughts. He stopped and turned toward the sound. His friend, Raul, came into the view.

Joseph and Raul had known each other since kindergarten and their friendship became stronger when Joseph stood up to some kids who bullied Raul during grade four. However, when Gina moved to their neighborhood, she drew a wedge between the two best friends. Raul liked her, but she seemed to like Joseph. To the untrained eye, Raul and Joseph still looked inseparable because Raul kept his personal feelings hidden, but Joseph knew better.

“Hey. What are you doing tonight?” Raul inquired once he caught up with Joseph, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

Joseph shrugged. “Hey. Nothing, I guess. You?”

“Let’s play Flashlight Hide and Seek,” Raul suggested.

“Who else is coming?”

“Sandy and Gina.”

Joseph sensed the same anger in his friend’s tone that he had been detecting throughout their grade seven. However, as usual, he acted as if he hadn’t noticed. If Raul decided to confront him, he would deal with the situation accordingly. Until then, better not stir the pot if nothing smelled. “Okay. I’ll see you tonight,” he agreed.

When Joseph’s parents separated, his father moved out allowing Joseph and his mother to live in their family home. Located next to an old church on one side, and the woods on the other side, Joseph’s backyard provided endless places to hide. With plenty of room to play a good game of Hide and Seek, they always played behind Joseph’s house.

Flashlight Hide and Seek was as much fun as it was scary. While the seeker had a flashlight, none of the other players did, so they sat in the dark waiting to be found.

When Joseph arrived home, a note from his mother waited for him on the kitchen table. ‘I’ll be working late. Beef stew and mashed potatoes are in the fridge. Love, Mom.’

He piled a plate with food, carried it in the living room and began to watch a movie.


Joseph wasn’t sure when he fell asleep but awakened suddenly by banging on the front door, he jerked and headed toward the sound. His journey halted momentarily as he stopped to turn on the interior lights, revealing a pathway from the messy living room to the front hallway. An inexplicable shudder ran up his spine as his hand reached forward to open the door. Nightfall had engulfed the atmosphere and his friends had come for the game.

How long was I asleep? He shrugged and stepped outside to greet his friends.

“Hi guys,” he said groggily.

Gina placed a hand on his shoulder drawing an immediate gaze from Raul. “You just woke up, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I feel asleep on the couch,” Joseph said, massaging the back of his neck with one hand.

“Well, c’mon, let’s play,” Raul urged them.

With all rules pre-set, stepping over a pile of rocks deep in the backyard, they spread in different directions and the game began.

A few rounds later, it was Joseph’s turn to be the seeker. He gave everyone a few minutes to hide before he began his quest to find his friends. He first started to go toward the church in search for them but changed his mind and began to walk down the tree line toward the moss-draped woods. Some rustling in the woods caught his attention and he smiled knowing he had found someone. Slowly, creeping up on the sound he could see branches and tree trunks. Massive dew-covered rocks glistened in the dim moonlight. The brushwood crunched beneath his feet. He took a few more steps and began to feel as if someone was watching him. A strong feeling that it was not his friends settled in the pit of his stomach. Whatever it was, made him feel very uncomfortable, so he began to withdraw. He made it out of the woods and then began to walk further down the tree line when he heard that same noise again.

Pushed by curiosity, he decided to see what it was. With his flashlight aimed at the ground in front of him, he walked a few feet then stopped to listen. Then walked a few more feet, and then he stopped again. The noise seemed to come from his side and slightly in front of him. He slowly lifted his light upward and strange grayish feet, long, powerful legs and a hunched back appeared in the ray of light.

Joseph froze and his hand shook violently, dropping the flashlight. With only the moon as his light, he saw the form turn around and reveal what had been hidden in the darkness. Joseph took a step back; his breath caught in his throat as the creature moved slowly, twigs snapping beneath his feet. In the moonlight standing motionless in front of him, was a creature that he had only seen in horror movies. Seven feet tall with wings tucked behind itself, and arms hanging by its side, the creature horrified Joseph. Joseph did not look up for facial features frightened of what he would see, but two glowing red eyes drew Joseph’s gaze to a lipless hole filled with sharp, blackened teeth, and no nose to speak of.

The moonlight amplified the horrific features, and as the creature began to raise its head, a high-pitched scream escaped its throat. It came fast and quick as if the souls of thousands expressed their torment. Behind its teeth a bloody red, jagged and forked tongue wiggled, overpowering Joseph’s brain.

Frozen with fear Joseph gasped and took a shaky step back needing a plan to get out of there as soon as possible. He took another step backward and slowly began to retrieve trying not to make a sound, although deep down he knew the creature was aware of his presence. Slowly, very slowly, he kept walking backward. The creature remained motionless. A few more steps and he would be out of the woods.

He could no longer see the creature but when he heard sticks breaking, he knew it was moving. Only moments later the monster stood in front of him blocking his way. Joseph tried to go around, but the creature picked him up and threw him in the air. He landed on his back with a loud thump a few feet away. Rolling onto his stomach, Joseph scrambled to stand but before he succeeded, the creature picked him up and threw him in the air, this time more forceful.

Sure that this would be his last living day as his strength wavered, Joseph forced himself to hold on. His body screamed as his energy slipped away. His brain gave a series of commands, which his body ignored. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. He wanted to shout, but he couldn’t. Wanting to survive more than anything else, his adrenaline kicked in. As the creature prepared for another attack, Joseph gathered all his energy and crawled out of the creature’s way. Just then, he caught sight of a form collapsed against the rocks.

“Oh God, that’s Gina! And she is not moving,” Joseph cried out. “Help! Someone, please help!”

He shouted louder hoping someone would come and help, but when no one did, he shakily stood and wobbled as fast as he could toward his house. He reached his backyard and stood there breathing heavily and wondering if the creature was real of just his imagination. Just then, he heard a loud swooping noise like a giant bird taking off. He turned around and saw the most incredible thing he had ever seen in his life. The giant creature was flying. In the moonlight, Joseph saw its enormous wingspan before it disappeared from view. He remained there in the middle of the lawn speechless and looking at the sky. Still in shock, he forgot that he and his friends were playing.

Sandy appeared from the tree line. “What’re you doing?” he asked Joseph seemingly unaware of what had happened.

“Did you see it?” Joseph asked still scanning the sky.

“See what? What’re you talking about?”

Suddenly, Joseph remembered Gina and took a few steps toward the tree line. Still unclear about Joseph’s trance-like state, Sandy followed closely behind him when Gina emerged from the woods and ran toward them.

“Raul,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath.

Joseph breathed a sigh of relief. “I saw you laying there. I thought you were dead.”

“Raul,” she mumbled. “He tried to kill me.”

Joseph’s eyes widened in surprise. “What? No. It was the creature. Where is Raul, anyway.”

“Raul is the creature. He left me alone when I wasn’t moving,” Gina said, still shaking.

For the rest of the night, all Joseph could think was the unbelievable creature. Was that really his best friend? How? Where did he go? Why didn’t he kill Gina and him? Would he return?


Write Well


I was always an avid reader. Long before I ever considered becoming a writer, I couldn’t understand why some stories put me there in the scene while others felt almost as if parts of the story were dry or missing or undeveloped.

Many of my readers have expressed in their reviews that my stories feel real. That the reader feels as if he/she is right there with my characters. They feel what my characters feel and see what my characters see.

Here is one example from a Goodreads group where I published a short story.

Ica: What a stunning début in WSS! I am very impressed with your skill in building the setting and keeping your reader guessing. Your characterization is delicate and also practical. Raul, Gina, and Joseph’s development was just enough to make the following events believable, but wasn’t excessive.

So what makes good writing?

Here is my humble opinion: Dialog and Description contribute equally to good writing.

Dialog: I believe it’s important for a character to talk naturally, the same way a real person would. However, before you put any words into your character’s mouth, decide and develop a personality for that character. Do you want your character to be strong, in control, weak, pathetic, sarcastic, rude, kind, emotional, straight up evil, etc.? Of course in books, just as in real life, some characters change traits. If, and when that happens, the way he/she talks should also change. Brian Klems and Nancy Kress talk extensively in this article about character personality, change, and motivation so I will not repeat what they say here.

Description: Now let’s talk about the narrative part of the story.

Show the readers everything, tell them nothing. ~ Ernest Hemingway ~

Hemingway refers to this as “reader’s dignity” meaning that the reader should be given respect, trusted to develop a feeling for the meaning behind the action without having the point painfully laid out for him or her.

Sandra Brown, whom I have great respect for and think she is a great editor, once told me that a good story has to have specific sensory detail: action, smell, taste, sound, and feeling.

I highly agree with both, Sandra and Hemingway. When you hand an emotion on a platter to your reader, his/her brain goes into a thinking mode instead of a feeling mode, skipping over the emotional part.

Here is an example: It snowed heavily all day. Signs warning of road closure were everywhere. His windshield was frozen, he could no longer see the road, and he feared that in these wintry conditions he might end up in the ditch.   

Clearly, there is a lot of snow on the road, there are signs telling him that the road is or will be closed, and the man is afraid of ending up in an accident. I haven’t painted that wintry picture in the reader’s mind and though he/she knows that my character is afraid, they can’t feel the character’s emotions. I told the story and left no room for emotion or imagination.

Now look at this example: Giant snowflakes continued to drop from the gloomy sky and splattered against the windshield then froze, making it hard for the wipers to keep the windshield clean. Up ahead blinking lights warned of road closures. His were the only tires to blemish the slick, white blanket. Dammit! The last damn thing he needed was to send his car flying off the road. Dry-mouthed, he swallowed hard and gripping the steering wheel firmer he squinted, trying to locate the road.

I still conveyed all the above except that I didn’t tell, I showed the scene. Notice how I painted the picture of my character being afraid, without actually using the word afraid.

With this being said, you can’t show every single scene in your book. Why? Let’s look at the examples above.

I told the scene in 38 words and I showed it in 80. All scenes are relevant to the story or else they should not be there.



However, some scenes and moments are more important than others. If you try to paint every scene vividly in the reader’s mind, besides the fact that you’ll have a very, very, long novel on your hands, important scenes that are supposed to stand out will get mingled with all the others. In other words, you will have a novel without any highlights, which will likely leave your readers’ minds the moment they read that last paragraph on that last page.

The Best Part About Being a Writer


Goodreads has asked me a question: What is the best part of being a writer?

Well, being a professional writer can be an intimidating and sometimes frustrating thing, but just like any other job, it has to have some wonderful parts about it or else no one would do it.

Anyway, here are my top four:

I think of myself as an antreprenor – a person who organizes, operates, and assumes the risk for a business venture – except that I can do it in my pajama.

Creating worlds and characters and then integrating a piece of myself into each one of them, is in my opinion, an obvious gratification for every writer.

Mystery, romance, and paranormal are my three absolute favorite genres. I love to go deep within my mind and find something I did not know was there.

I love turning my thoughts and feelings into something entertaining.

What do you love about being a writer?