Outrageous Fortune

My love of Shakespeare began when I was a kid, sitting with my parents as they played a VHS tape of Zephirelli’s Romeo and Juliet. It was pretty and romantic, but most wondrous was that my mother, who never cried over anything, cried at the end. I knew I was in the presence of powerful storytelling.

Decades later, I went to see Hamlet in Washington, D.C. The setting was modern—which was fine: Hamlet’s anxieties over power and family and loss would be the same whether he was in tights or a hoody. The only thing that didn’t work for me was Ophelia. Why would a girl these days agree to betray her boyfriend? And why would she kill herself over a boy? It didn’t make sense. At the end, as I dried my tears on the way to the subway, I thought, “But what if Ophelia didn’t die?” And my story—the one that would inspire a TV series starring Elizabeth Hurley—was born.

At this point, though, I still did not consider myself a writer. I loved stories, which was what drew me to major in drama and to direct shows for Tufts’ 3Ps, Cup and Saucer, and Torn Ticket. But I liked other people’s tales. In fact, the most traumatizing class I ever took at Tufts was Creative Writing. Everyone else had great stories to tell and told them so much better than I seemed to. It was physically painful for me to have to share my work aloud, a phobia that took me until my second book signing to get over. But something about that D.C. Hamlet made me want to write a novel. Turns out I was good at it.

I wanted everyone to know from the start that Ophelia went on living, but I wanted the story to keep the most famous scenes and lines. Except “To be or not to be.” That seemed too fraught, so I left it out until my editor insisted I write it in, which I did as a throwaway joke. What fascinated me was the idea of modern royalty—of how hard it is to be famous by birth in an era completely lacking in privacy.

My novel, Falling for Hamlet, was published by Little, Brown (I’m skipping years of drama and excitement here, but insert tears and celebrations at will), and I figured that would be the end of the road for my version of Shakespeare. Except that my friends kept saying, “It reads like a movie. I can see this on screen.” Others happened to think so, too. My agency, Erin Murphy Literary, works with the Gotham Group in Los Angeles to get books optioned for TV and film, and rather quickly it was purchased.

The deal wasn’t glamorous. I remember sitting outside one of those paint-your-own-pottery stores while my daughter attended a birthday party, on a three-way call with my two agents trying to figure out what my “demands” might be. The LA agent asked whether I wanted script approval if it became a TV series, and I said, “Once it goes to TV, it’s not really my story anymore.” It’s true. My story is finite. Murders. Massive body count. Curtain comes down. How could that possibly be spun out week after week? Besides, I grew up in LA, and many of my friends from high school and Tufts are in “the business.” Everyone’s got a project, a proposal, a promise, so I thought there was no way my little old book would become a real show.

I took pleasure in the journey, laughing at things like the line in the contract that forbids my name or likeness to be used for . . . personal hygiene products! If I’d thought a TV show would happen for real, I would at least have asked to be granted a visit to the set. But I’m not complaining. Even though I haven’t been part of the process, I see stuff about the show online, and it has been a thrill to watch it roll out.

Falling for Hamlet never tried to be high art, but The Royals (coming to the E! channel) looks like it’s shaping up to be high smut, and I can’t say I’m sorry. Hey, sex sells and I’m hoping this show plays for a while.

My mother said she was going to reread my book in anticipation of the premiere, and I said, “Why? It’s not the same.” I’m glad to see them carrying on with what had fascinated me: the idea of modern royalty living with money and fame while the world watches. There’s still an Ophelia. She still likes art. If anything else is similar, I’ll find out with the rest of the world on March 15. And it makes me laugh that all this came from a whim I had one evening walking to the subway.