-well, there can be lots of reasons. Many of them bad. But one of them-one that applies even to good adaptations by good writers-is painfully simple.

The rules are different.

What works on paper may not work on the screen.

What works on a screen may not work on a stage.

And none of it may sound right coming out of a radio.

If a writer wants to adapt a story, he'll probably have to change it. If a good writer wants to adapt a story, he'll make sure he doesn't change anything important. The trick is knowing what's important...

Once upon a time, a friend of mine paid me a huge compliment.

Thomas Fuller was a playwright and a poet, with a long list of productions to his credit. He was also the head writer for the Atlanta Radio Theater Company, and ARTC was looking for children's material. One day he gave me the script for a old stage play he'd written and asked me to adapt it for audio.

Once I'd stopped blushing, I took a closer look at his script. And winced. It was a thoroughly charming piece of work, but I'd have a hard time finding something that looked less like a radio play.

Imagine.

Four kids drag a footlocker onto a bare stage, start pulling props out of it, and use them to perform skits based on Aesop's fables. The kids and their wrangling overshadow the fables at least half the time.

It was beautiful theater. I could almost hear every laugh. But coming out of a loudspeaker?

Our audience couldn't see the kids. They couldn't see the footlocker. They couldn't see the props, or what the kids did with them.

They couldn't see anything. They could only hear. And what would they hear?

Scrapes.

Squeaking hinges.

Things bumping and rustling and-occasionally-making a recognizable sound.

Four children's voices, arguing over things not seen.

In a word, nonsense. What worked beautifully on the stage would be meaningless noise to a listener.

Obviously I would have to rewrite the whole thing. But if it wasn't going to be Thomas' play any more, then why was I doing it?

-----

Well, that would depend on what Thomas' play was about. If it was about a bare stage, and silly props, and squabbling children, and how they worked unexpected magic together, then I was out of luck. But was that the point? I didn't think so. Not even when I was reading his script for the first time.

Thomas' play was a comedy about a group of children claiming to be a theater troupe. Amateurs who thought they were professionals. Children who thought they were old hands. Serious actors who stopped partway through a play to argue over whether the audience would like it-forgetting that the audience was right there.

It was also about theater. About creating a whole world from next to nothing-with help from the audience's imagination.

It wasn't about the stage, or the footlocker, or even the audience as such. If I had to, I could do without all those things.

So I did.

Imagine.

Four children walk onto an empty sound stage, their footsteps echoing off the walls as they argue about whether they should have taken this gig. Suddenly, a Voice from nowhere asks them if they're ready.

Before they quite get an answer out, the wind begins to whisper in the trees (Wind? Trees?) beside the softly murmuring brook (Brook?).

"How's that?" says the Sound Effects Man. The Announcer approves, and starts reading the opening credits...

Before the play is over the kids are arguing technicalities with the Announcer, demanding extra sound effects, and pulling (noisy) props from behind trees ("The tree wasn't there when we came in-how do you know this wasn't behind it?")

-----

I had cut Thomas's play to pieces.

He loved it.

He'd known exactly what was wrong with his play as a radio script, he told me. And I'd done exactly what he'd hoped I would do. What he would've done if he'd had time.

And just as I was starting to blush again, he fixed me with a steely gaze and said, "One thing, though. I wrote this for four children. You rewrote it for three."

"The-ummm, the director asked me to."

"She did, did she?" His gaze hardened further. "Why?"

"Well-we only have three actors the right age."

"Being practical. I see." He shook his head. "Never worry about being practical."

"Well, I didn't write Patty OUT of it. I sent her on vacation to Disney World. If we get another kid we can put her back in the sequels..."

"Very practical."

Sigh.