From Novel to StageThe Journey of Adapting Bloodlines: Cove Point Manor for the Theatre

The Journey of Adapting Bloodlines: Cove Point Manor for the Theatre

An Author's Insight & Reader Insights White Paper

William B. Taylor

What happens when a novelist decides to turn his story into a play — and discovers that changing the medium doesn't necessarily mean losing the story?

Introduction: The Idea That Came Out of Nowhere

Most authors probably imagine their characters coming to life on a screen.

I was no different.

I had always imagined Bloodlines: Cove Point Manor as a potential television series or film. I was also realistic enough to understand how difficult that road would be, so I put the idea away as a very long-shot possibility.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, another thought appeared: “What about a play?”

I honestly don't know where the idea came from. I hadn't been sitting around studying theatre. I hadn't seen an actual stage play since I was a child in school. But once the idea appeared, I did what I tend to do when confronted with something I don't understand: I researched it.

I wanted to know what goes into a theatrical production, how a play is structured, how long it should run, what a stage production realistically requires and, most importantly, whether Cove Point Manor contained the ingredients necessary to become one.

The more I explored the theatrical form, the more I realized that it did.

That was when the experiment really began.

1. Before Adapting the Story, Learn the Medium

I didn't begin by asking: “How do I turn my novel into a play?” I first asked:

“What makes a play work?” That distinction became extremely important.

A novel can move effortlessly between locations, describe an enormous mansion in minute detail, explain a character's history in several pages, enter someone's thoughts and spend paragraphs establishing atmosphere.

A stage production has physical limitations. There are sets to build. Actors have to move through them. Scene changes have to work. Locations have to be practical. The audience needs to understand what is happening without being given a running commentary. Once I understood those constraints, I could examine Cove Point Manor and determine what could survive the journey.

Fortunately, quite a lot could!

2. Designing the Path of Least Resistance

My first major consideration wasn't dialogue: It was production practicality.

Where would most of the play take place?

How many locations would actually be necessary?

How could transitions work?

What would need to physically exist on stage?

What could simply exist in the audience's imagination?

My engineering and application background probably helped here. I've spent decades conceptualizing products around real-world requirements, so I naturally approached the theatrical adaptation in much the same way.

I wanted to find the path of least resistance for the people who would ultimately have to stage the play. Once that framework was established, I could begin compressing the novel into scenes.

And that led to the biggest change of all: The novel tells. The stage shows.

3. Turning Description Into Action

One of the fundamental differences between the novel and the play was what happened to the descriptive prose.

In the novel I could write: “Alex spoke to Brenda in a tone that clearly displayed his anger.”

On stage, I don't need to explain the anger to the audience.

I can give the actor the cue that Alex is angry, but what happens next belongs to the actor.

Perhaps Alex raises his voice. Perhaps his movements become more aggressive. Perhaps his facial expression changes. Perhaps the actor chooses something much more subtle.

The script establishes the dramatic truth. The actor communicates it.

That was one of the most interesting discoveries of the adaptation process. I wasn't eliminating information simply because there wasn't room for it. I was changing the way the information reached the audience.

4. What Happens to a Mansion You Can't Show?

Cove Point Manor presented an immediate theatrical challenge. The mansion itself is fundamental to the story. It is the setting. It is part of the atmosphere. It gives the story its title.

And in the novel, I could describe the mansion and its grounds in considerable detail. I can't do that on stage, at least not without having actors wander around describing the building to the audience like they're conducting a museum tour.

So I made a different choice: let the audience build the mansion.

Give them enough information to understand what Cove Point Manor is, what it means and how it functions within the story — then allow their imagination to complete the picture.

The same principle applies to another important character.

5. Maybelline Never Drives Onto the Stage

Maybelline — Alex's 1956 Cadillac — is more than a car, she is an important part of Alex's history and identity.

But I wasn't about to drive a 1956 Cadillac onto a theatre stage simply so the audience could admire her. So, once again, the solution was suggestion rather than reproduction.

The audience learns that Maybelline exists.

They learn enough about her to understand her importance.

And then their imagination does the rest.

Someone who has owned or admired a classic Cadillac may picture Maybelline one way. Someone who has never seen one may picture her differently. Neither interpretation damages the story.

In fact, this is one of the things I began to appreciate about theatre: the audience participates in creating the world.

6. The Story Had to Survive

The adaptation loses a considerable amount of background detail. It has to.

But I was never willing to lose the story.

At its core, Cove Point Manor is about:

• A man who inherits a Gilded Age mansion and millions of dollars from a family he didn't know existed.• A beautiful and intelligent woman he meets and falls in love with.• Two greedy family friends who arrive hoping to profit from his newfound fortune.• A spirit trapped inside the mansion who tries to protect her family.• Those supposed friends ultimately revealing who they really are and being thrown out.

That story remains intac. The road is different but the destination remains the same.

7. The Author Has to Let Go — But Not Give Away the Story

One of the pleasant surprises of adapting the novel was discovering that I didn't have a problem allowing other creative people to interpret the work. I retain the dialogue, which is extremely important to me. But beyond that, the lighting, acting, staging and physical interpretation become the responsibility of the production team.

And that's appropriate.

The people producing the play are investing their own time, money, talent and reputation into making it work. They have a vested interest in producing the best version they can.

My job is to give them a strong script.

Their job is to bring it to life.

8. Becoming an Audience Member of My Own Story

There's another unexpected benefit: I've listened to audiobook versions of my novels, and that experience is different from reading my own work.

When I read my own books, the author in me immediately appears. I start thinking:

“I should have written that differently.”

“That character could have said this instead.”

“That paragraph needs work.”

It becomes work.

But hearing another creative person interpret my words allows me to become something I rarely get to be: a member of my own audience.

The theatrical production takes that one step further. I could potentially sit in a theatre and watch actors portray characters I created.

I can watch what works.

I can see what doesn't.

I can experience audience reactions.

And, perhaps most importantly, I can simply enjoy the story.

9. The Audience Changes Everything

Someone who has never read Cove Point Manor will walk into the theatre without any expectations about what the story is supposed to look like.

That matters.

I wrote the play assuming that virtually everyone in the audience would be experiencing Bloodlines for the first time.

They don't need to know the novel. They simply need to be entertained by the story being told on stage.

Readers who already know the book have a different experience. They already know the characters and major story elements, but they also understand that theatre is a different medium. The expectation isn't necessarily photographic reproduction of the novel.

It is another interpretation of the same story.

And that's one reason I think theatre can avoid some of the disappointment that occasionally accompanies film adaptations. Film can reproduce enormous amounts of visual detail — but that can also create a very specific version of the world for the audience to compare with the one they imagined while reading.

Theatre leaves more room. The audience brings part of the scenery with them.

10. The Bloodlines World Is Bigger Than One Play

I don't expect audiences to walk out of Cove Point Manor expecting another Bloodlines play immediately - I'm not even convinced that will happen myself. :)

But I would love for someone to enjoy the theatrical experience enough to become curious about the written world. Because Cove Point Manor isn't a one-and-done story: Bloodlines continues through different locations, different periods, different characters and different challenges.

The theatrical adaptation could therefore become something unexpected: a doorway into the larger Bloodlines world.

11. A Mental Holiday

This may ultimately be what I hope the Bloodlines stories provide: a place where readers can briefly escape everyday life. A place for:

Fun.

Adventure.

Mystery.

A few laughs.

Good stories have always done that for me. They give us somewhere else to go for a while.

If Bloodlines can provide that same experience for someone else — even if only for a few hours — then it has accomplished something worthwhile.

A theatrical production simply gives the audience another way to take that journey.

12. The Unexpected Lesson for Indie Authors: Know Your Rights

There was another lesson hiding inside this experiment that I think is particularly important for independent authors.

When an author licenses or options a work for film or television, the agreement can grant substantial adaptation and production rights to another party. The amount of creative control an author retains depends heavily on the negotiated contract and the author's bargaining position.

For an emerging author without significant leverage, meaningful creative approval rights can be extremely difficult to obtain. That doesn't mean authors should reject professional adaptation opportunities. It means they should understand what they are agreeing to before they sign.

By creating the theatrical adaptation of Cove Point Manor myself, I didn't have to surrender control of my story simply to discover whether it could work on stage. I retained ownership of the underlying story and created another expression of it myself.

That doesn't make this the right path for every author, but it is a path. And for an indie author who has never considered that possibility, knowing that the path exists may be important.

Do your homework before you sign away rights that you may later wish you had kept.

13. Different Roads, Same Destination

There is no single route from a novel to an adaptation.

An author might work with an agent.

A producer might approach an author.

A studio might option a book.

A theatre company might commission an adaptation.

Or, as happened with Cove Point Manor, the author might simply wake up one day and think: “What about a play?”

I chose to follow that thought. It required countless hours of research, thinking, writing and rewriting. It was difficult at times, but I learned that I could write a theatrical script. I learned that the story could survive the change in medium.

And I learned that the finished play naturally landed in the mystery/comedy territory that is attractive to producers, actors and audiences. Most importantly, I'm satisfied with the result.

Would I do it again? 100%!

The journey was considerably longer than I expected. However, sometimes the journey is more memorable than the destination.

And in this case, I'm glad I decided to take the road.

For Readers: The Story Beyond the Page

A theatrical adaptation doesn't replace Bloodlines: Cove Point Manor.

It offers another way into it.

The reader has the freedom to construct the manor, imagine Maybelline and live inside the characters' thoughts.

The theatre audience receives something different: actors giving those characters voices, movements and personalities in real time.

One experience is private.

The other is shared.

One gives the reader almost unlimited visual imagination.

The other gives an audience the energy of watching a story unfold together.

Neither needs to replace the other. They simply offer different ways to visit the same world.

And perhaps that's the greatest discovery of the entire adaptation. Cove Point Manor was never limited to the pages of the novel; The story was always capable of becoming something else.

I simply had to discover the road that would get it there.

A Final Thought

If the curtain ever does rise on Bloodlines: Cove Point Manor, I'll be sitting somewhere in the audience.

And for once, I won't be thinking about what I should have rewritten.

I'll simply be watching.

— William B. Taylor