Do we know what your hero is thinking?

Why are books almost always better than movies? In books, we can crawl inside a character’s head and know his or her thoughts.

I’ve heard it always, and I know it’s true.

People read a good novel.

They go to the movies and watch the novel come to life on screen.

Time after time, they walk out of the theater and say the same thing.

The movie was good.

They liked the book better.

Ever wonder why?

This is what I believe.

In the movies, we see the characters and know what they look like.

That’s all.

We watch the action.

We watch the characters watch the action.

We see them smile or frown, cringe or arch an eyebrow, spit in disgust or nervously rub their chins.

That’s all we can do.

In a novel, however, readers are permitted behind the curtain. They can crawl inside a character’s head and know what he or she is thinking. We better understand why they react the way they do. We learn all about their dreams, their fears, their hopes, their motivations.

Sure, dialogue is important in books and on movie screens.

Dialogue is the best way to tell a story.

But don’t forget that crucial inner dialogue characters have with themselves.

It’s called deep point of view, and it’s the way we build characters and make them unforgettable.

In my noir thriller,  Rainy Night to Die, Roland Sand is a rogue operative faced with an impossible task. He must sneak into Odessa in Ukraine and rescue a beautiful jazz singer who had been smuggling Russian secrets to British intelligence.

He had twenty-four hours.

He might already be too late.

This the way I wrote his internal dialogue as he walks in the dead of night to the club where the jazz singer sings.

***

But now Sand walked on the same sidewalk with death.

They weren’t old friends.

But they recognized each other.

Death always bore the same smell, the aroma of cheap perfume from a five and dime store.

Sweet.

Sickening.

It lingered in his nostrils long after the sound of the shot had died away.

He saw the light flicker, then fly from a man’s eyes when death overtook him.

The eyes were always asking why.

Sand could not understand it.

The eyes knew why.

They just couldn’t accept it.

The demons were still frightened of him.

But they tagged along just the same.

They were waiting for him to die.

The demons wanted the last laugh.

Sand glanced again at the digital clock.

The time was eighteen minutes before nine.

Time to move.

Pauline Bellerose would be waiting for them.

Or did she know her cover had been blown?

Had she even been told that someone was coming for her?

Or had the Russians already removed her from the stage, from the city, from the land of the living?

Please click HERE to find Rainy Night to Die on Amazon.

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