Copyright Registration for Derivative Works

Picture a translator who spends eighteen months rendering a beloved French novel into supple, singing English. Or a composer who reharmonizes a public-domain folk tune into a lush string-quartet arrangement. Or a software team that ships version 4.0 of an app, rewriting half the codebase. Or a sculptor who turns a flat cartoon drawing into a three-dimensional figurine. Every one of these creators has made something new and valuable—and every one of them has made a derivative work, a work built on top of something that already existed.

Derivative works sit at one of the most misunderstood intersections in all of copyright law. People assume that because they did the creative heavy lifting, they own everything in the resulting work. They assume that adapting an old work somehow refreshes the clock on the old work's copyright. They assume that registering "my version" protects the whole thing. Each of those assumptions is wrong, and each one can cost a creator real money in a lawsuit or get a registration application bounced back by the Copyright Office.

This guide will make you fluent in derivative works. We will define the term precisely (it has a statutory definition, and the words matter), explain the single most important rule in this corner of the law—that copyright in a derivative work covers only the new material the author added—and then walk through, field by field, how to register a derivative work with the U.S. Copyright Office without tripping over the classic mistakes that delay or doom applications. Along the way we will meet the "thin copyright" problem, the originality threshold the Supreme Court set in Feist, the unforgiving rule that an unauthorized adaptation gets no copyright at all, the accuracy obligations the Supreme Court clarified in Unicolors v. H&M, and a gallery of worked examples drawn from film, music, software, and visual art.

Whether you are a judge trying to untangle who owns what in an adaptation, a practitioner advising a client, or a creator who simply wants to register the right thing the right way, you will leave knowing exactly where the lines are drawn—and why.

What Counts as a Derivative Work

Let's start with the statute, because Congress did us the rare favor of defining the term. Under the Copyright Act, a derivative work is:

"a work based upon one or more preexisting works, such as a translation, musical arrangement, dramatization, fictionalization, motion picture version, sound recording, art reproduction, abridgment, condensation, or any other form in which a work may be recast, transformed, or adapted. A work consisting of editorial revisions, annotations, elaborations, or other modifications which, as a whole, represent an original work of authorship, is a 'derivative work.'"

That is 17 U.S.C. § 101. Read it twice, because the two sentences do different jobs. The first sentence gives you a non-exhaustive list of recognizable derivative-work types and then a catch-all: any form in which a work is "recast, transformed, or adapted." The second sentence sweeps in the quieter category—the new edition, the annotated text, the revised treatise—where the changes to an existing work are themselves substantial enough to be "an original work of authorship."

In plain English: a derivative work takes something that already exists and reworks it into something new. Two ingredients must be present. First, the work must incorporate or be based on a preexisting work—you have to start from something. Second, the new version must add original, copyrightable authorship of its own. A photocopy of a novel is not a derivative work; it adds nothing. A translation of that novel is, because translating requires thousands of creative word choices.

Here is a sampler of derivative works, the kind that show up constantly in practice:

A motion picture based on a novel or a stage play (the screenplay and the film are both derivatives of the book).
A translation of an English novel into Spanish, or vice versa.
A new, revised edition of a previously published textbook.
A sculpture based on a two-dimensional drawing, or a drawing based on a photograph.
A lithograph or other reproduction based on a painting.
A stage drama about a real person built from that person's letters and journal entries.
A musical arrangement of a preexisting song—say, a jazz reharmonization or an orchestral version.
A new version of an existing computer program (version 2.0 is a derivative of version 1.0).
A remix or mashup of preexisting recordings.
A substantially revised website.

The unifying thread is transformation plus addition. Something old goes in; something new and creative comes out. Note that one work can be both a derivative work and something else at the same time—an annotated, illustrated anthology of public-domain poems is simultaneously a compilation (in its selection and arrangement) and a derivative work (in its annotations and illustrations). The categories overlap, and a single application can claim several kinds of new authorship at once.

Derivative Works Versus Compilations and Collective Works

People often lump derivative works together with compilations, and the statute treats them as cousins—but they are not the same thing, and the difference affects what you register and what you own. (For a deep dive on the compilation/collective-work side, see our companion guide on contributions to a collective work.)

A compilation, also defined in § 101, is "a work formed by the collection and assembling of preexisting materials or of data that are selected, coordinated, or arranged in such a way that the resulting work as a whole constitutes an original work of authorship." A collective work is a particular kind of compilation—"a periodical issue, anthology, or encyclopedia"—in which a number of separate and independent works are assembled into a whole.

The distinction is this: a derivative work recasts and transforms the underlying material into something new (the novel becomes a movie). A compilation selects and arranges preexisting pieces without necessarily transforming any single one (the "Best Short Stories of 2025" anthology gathers stories that stay exactly as they were). In a derivative work, the creativity is in the reworking. In a compilation, the creativity is in the curation—the choosing and ordering.

That curation can absolutely be copyrightable. A directory of "the best taquerias in Los Angeles," a greatest-news-photos book, a themed academic journal issue, a catalog combining text and photography—each can earn copyright protection in its selection, coordination, and arrangement. But—and this is the lesson of Feist, which we will get to shortly—the curation has to involve genuine creative judgment. A mechanical, exhaustive compilation with no creative selection, like a white-pages phone book listing every subscriber alphabetically, gets no copyright at all.

Why does the line matter on a registration form? Because it dictates how you describe your new authorship. For a derivative work you typically claim something like "translation," "musical arrangement," or "revised text." For a compilation you claim "compilation"—the creative selection, coordination, and arrangement of the underlying items. Get the label wrong and you may claim authorship you don't have (or fail to claim authorship you do have). For most of this guide we will focus on derivative works in the strict sense, but nearly everything we say about the scope of protection—that it reaches only the new contribution and not the underlying material—applies equally to compilations and collective works.

The Golden Rule: You Only Own the New Material

If you remember one thing from this entire guide, make it this. Copyright in a derivative work covers only the additions, changes, or other new material that appears for the first time in the derivative work. It does not extend to any preexisting material. That preexisting material might be a previously published work, a previously registered work, a work in the public domain, or a work owned by somebody else. Whatever it is, the derivative author's copyright does not reach it.

This rule lives in 17 U.S.C. § 103. Section 103(a) says copyright subsists in compilations and derivative works (subject to a catch we'll discuss in a moment). Section 103(b) is the heart of the matter:

"The copyright in a compilation or derivative work extends only to the material contributed by the author of such work, as distinguished from the preexisting material employed in the work, and does not imply any exclusive right in the preexisting material. The copyright in such work is independent of, and does not affect or enlarge the scope, duration, ownership, or subsistence of, any copyright protection in the preexisting material."

Let's unpack that with a hypothetical. Hypothetical: Suppose Acme Press publishes a new annotated edition of Pride and Prejudice. Jane Austen's text is in the public domain—free for anyone to use. Acme's editor writes 200 pages of footnotes, an introduction, and historical commentary. Acme's copyright protects the footnotes, the introduction, and the commentary. It does not protect Austen's novel. A rival publisher can lift the entire text of Pride and Prejudice from Acme's edition and reprint it, so long as it leaves Acme's annotations behind. Acme cannot use its derivative copyright to fence off the underlying public-domain text.

Two crucial corollaries flow from § 103(b):

You cannot extend a copyright by making a derivative work. This is the misconception that bites people most often. Hypothetical: Imagine a song from 1925 that has entered the public domain. A composer creates a clever new arrangement in 2026. The arrangement is protected (the new harmonies, the new orchestration), and that protection runs for the arranger's life plus seventy years. But the underlying melody remains in the public domain forever. The arrangement's copyright does nothing to revive or extend the old song. Anyone else is free to make a completely different arrangement of the same public-domain tune. Each derivative gets its own thin copyright in its own new material; none of them can recapture the underlying work. (For how copyright terms are actually measured, see our guide on renewal of copyright.)

Using public-domain material in your derivative doesn't lock anyone else out of that material. Because your copyright reaches only your additions, a competitor can return to the same public-domain well and draw from it for an entirely different adaptation. Disney's animated Cinderella is protected, but the Brothers Grimm fairy tale underneath is public domain, and nothing stopped any other studio from making its own Cinderella.

The Supreme Court drove the "no enlargement" principle home in Stewart v. Abend, 495 U.S. 207 (1990), the long-running litigation over the Cornell Woolrich short story that became Alfred Hitchcock's film Rear Window. The Court held that the owner of a derivative work (the film) could be barred from continuing to exploit it when the rights in the underlying story reverted to the original author's successor and the license to use it lapsed. The derivative author's rights, in other words, are forever tethered to—and bounded by—the rights in the underlying work. You can build a skyscraper on leased land, but you don't own the land, and when the lease ends your tenancy may end with it.

The Lawfulness Requirement: Section 103(a)'s Hidden Trap

Now for the catch in § 103(a). The full text reads: "protection for a work employing preexisting material in which copyright subsists does not extend to any part of the work in which such material has been used unlawfully."

In other words, if you build a derivative work on top of someone else's still-copyrighted work without permission, the part of your work that uses that material gets no copyright protection at all. You cannot create unauthorized fan fiction starring a living author's copyrighted characters and then claim a copyright that you can enforce in the infringing portions. The derivative-work right under 17 U.S.C. § 106(2)—the exclusive right "to prepare derivative works based upon the copyrighted work"—belongs to the owner of the underlying copyright. Only that owner, or someone the owner has authorized, may lawfully adapt the work. Preparing an unauthorized adaptation is itself one of the enumerated ways to infringe; the Copyright Act lists "prepare derivative works based upon a copyrighted work" right alongside reproduction, distribution, public performance, and public display as exclusive rights of the owner, the violation of any of which is infringement under § 501(a).

This connects to a broader point: making an unauthorized adaptation isn't just unprotectable, it's potentially infringement. If you translate a copyrighted novel without a license, you've violated the author's § 106(2) right, and you may owe damages—potentially statutory damages and attorney's fees if the underlying work was timely registered. (For what that exposure looks like, see what are the consequences of pirating intellectual property.)

There is a wrinkle worth flagging for the careful reader. The classic illustration—Anderson v. Stallone, 11 U.S.P.Q.2d 1161 (C.D. Cal. 1989)—involved a writer who penned an unauthorized treatment for a Rocky sequel and then sued Sylvester Stallone for using his ideas; the court held that because the treatment was an unauthorized derivative work using Rocky and the other copyrighted characters, the writer had no protectable copyright in it. Some courts have read § 103(a) more narrowly, asking whether the new material can be separated from the unlawfully used material and protecting the separable new material on its own. But the safe, practical rule for any creator is simple: get permission before you adapt. A signed license is cheap insurance against owning nothing. (When the adaptation is software, the license mechanics get involved—see our guides on drafting software license agreements and software licensing agreements.)

How Much Originality Does the New Material Need? Feist and Durham

We keep saying the derivative author must add "original, copyrightable authorship." How much is enough? Welcome to one of copyright's eternal questions.

The constitutional and statutory baseline comes from Feist Publications, Inc. v. Rural Telephone Service Co., 499 U.S. 340 (1991). Feist is the white-pages case. Rural Telephone published a phone directory; Feist copied its listings into a competing regional directory. Rural sued. The Supreme Court held that Rural's white pages were not copyrightable, because copyright requires originality, and the bare alphabetical listing of every subscriber's name, town, and number reflected no creative spark whatsoever. Justice O'Connor's opinion gave us the canonical formulation: originality requires that a work be "independently created by the author (as opposed to copied from other works), and that it possess at least some minimal degree of creativity." Id. at 345. The "sweat of the brow"—the sheer effort of compiling—doesn't count. Effort without creativity earns no copyright.

The bar is famously low. The Court said "the requisite level of creativity is extremely low; even a slight amount will suffice." Id. But it is not zero, and for derivative works the originality question has a special flavor: the new material must add something more than a "trivial" or "merely trivial" variation on the underlying work.

That brings us to Durham Industries, Inc. v. Tomy Corp., 630 F.2d 905 (2d Cir. 1980), the leading derivative-work originality case. Tomy made plastic wind-up toys of Mickey, Donald, and Pluto under license from Disney. Durham, a competitor, copied the toys and—when Tomy objected—argued that Tomy's own toys weren't copyrightable derivative works to begin with. The Second Circuit agreed with Durham. The court held that to support a derivative-work copyright, the new contribution must be "substantial" and must reflect a "distinguishable variation" that is more than "merely trivial." Tomy's plastic figures were faithful three-dimensional renderings of Disney's two-dimensional characters; the differences were dictated by the medium (you have to do something to make a flat drawing stand up), not by independent creative choice. No substantial originality, no derivative copyright.

The Seventh Circuit reached a similar result in Gracen v. Bradford Exchange, 698 F.2d 300 (7th Cir. 1983), where Judge Posner explained a subtle policy reason for demanding a bit more originality in derivative works: if a slavish copy of an underlying work could earn its own copyright, it would become impossible to tell who copied from whom, and derivative-work copyrights would create endless litigation over which artist's faithful reproduction infringed which other artist's faithful reproduction. So the law insists that a derivative work be distinguishable—different enough that we can tell your version from a coincidental copy.

The practical takeaway: a derivative work needs more than a tweak. A faithful scaling-up, a mechanical format change, a one-word edit, an exact transcription—none of these will carry a derivative copyright. But a genuine creative reworking—real translation choices, real arrangement decisions, substantial new code, meaningful new text—clears the bar comfortably. And note the difference between the originality required to claim a copyright and the "transformativeness" that excuses infringement under fair use: they are distinct inquiries. A work can be original enough to register and still be an infringing (or fair) use of someone else's material. The two questions—Did you add enough to own anything? and Were you allowed to use the underlying work?—are answered separately.

Thin Copyright: Owning Something That Protects Almost Nothing

Even when a derivative work clears the originality bar, the resulting copyright is often "thin." This is one of the most important practical concepts in the whole area, and it surprises a lot of creators.

"Thin copyright" means your protection extends only to the precise creative choices you actually contributed, and an alleged infringer escapes unless they copied those very choices. The thinner the contribution, the closer a competitor can come without infringing. Feist itself describes this: where a compilation's originality lies only in a modest selection and arrangement, the copyright is "thin," and a later user is free to use the underlying facts so long as it doesn't copy the protected arrangement.

Hypothetical: Consider an art reproduction. Suppose a photographer makes a high-quality photograph of a public-domain painting hanging in a museum, exercising real skill in lighting and composition. (Whether such a photograph is even copyrightable is itself contested—Bridgeman Art Library, Ltd. v. Corel Corp., 36 F. Supp. 2d 191 (S.D.N.Y. 1999), held that slavish photographic reproductions of public-domain paintings lack originality and get no copyright at all.) Even where some originality exists, the copyright is gossamer-thin: it protects the specific photographic choices, not the painting, and a competitor who shoots the same painting with its own lighting infringes nothing.

The lesson for clients is one of expectation-setting. Registering a derivative work is worthwhile—but a creator who registers a lightly revised second edition should understand that the registration protects the revisions, not the original book, and that the protection may be narrow. In litigation, a thin copyright also changes the infringement standard a court will apply: where protection is thin, many courts require "supersubstantial" or near-identical copying before finding infringement, rather than the ordinary "substantial similarity." The real value, in those cases, often lies in whatever fresh, substantial authorship the creator can point to.

Who Has the Right to Make a Derivative Work in the First Place?

Before you can register or own a derivative work, you have to be entitled to make it. As noted, the right to prepare derivative works is one of the exclusive rights reserved to the copyright owner under 17 U.S.C. § 106(2). Only the owner—the author, or someone who has acquired the relevant exclusive rights from the author—may create or authorize an adaptation.

So if you want to translate a copyrighted novel, set a copyrighted poem to music, or build a sequel to a copyrighted film, you need a license (or an assignment) from the rights holder. The license should spell out the scope of permission—what kind of derivative, in what media, in what territory, for how long, and who owns the resulting derivative. Watch especially for two clauses: one that says the licensor owns the derivative you create, and one that terminates your right to exploit the derivative when the license ends (the Stewart v. Abend problem in contract form).

Three situations are clean and worry-free:

You own the underlying work. A novelist adapting her own novel into a screenplay needs no one's permission; she owns both. The screenplay is a derivative work, and she owns the new material in it just as she owns the book.
The underlying work is in the public domain. Anyone may freely adapt a public-domain work—translate War and Peace, animate a Grimm fairy tale, arrange a Beethoven symphony. Your derivative copyright will protect only your additions, and others remain equally free to mine the same public-domain source. One caution: confirm the work really is in the public domain. Foreign works once thought to be public domain in the United States were "restored" to copyright under the 1994 Uruguay Round Agreements Act (URAA), a regime the Supreme Court upheld in Golan v. Holder, 565 U.S. 302 (2012). A derivative builder who relied on a since-restored foreign work may have an unauthorized adaptation on its hands.
You have a license. With written permission from the rights holder, your adaptation is lawful, and you own a copyright in the new material you contribute. (Read your license carefully, though—it may say the resulting derivative is owned by the licensor, or that your rights revert when the license ends.)

When the work is created by an employee within the scope of employment, or falls within the statutory categories of commissioned work under a written agreement, it may be a work made for hire, in which case the employer or commissioning party is treated as the author and owner. We unpack that doctrine in our copyright FAQs and in the comprehensive copyright registration guide.

Why Register a Derivative Work at All?

Copyright protection is automatic. The moment your derivative work is "fixed in a tangible medium"—saved to a hard drive, printed, recorded—it is protected, with no registration required. 17 U.S.C. § 408(a). So why bother registering?

Because registration unlocks a powerful set of benefits that a creator simply cannot get without it. The same benefits that apply to any work apply to derivative works:

You generally must register before you can sue. For U.S. works, a copyright owner must obtain registration (or a refusal of registration) from the Copyright Office before filing an infringement suit in federal court. 17 U.S.C. § 411(a). The Supreme Court made this concrete in Fourth Estate Public Benefit Corp. v. Wall-Street.com, LLC, 586 U.S. 296 (2019), holding that "registration . . . has been made" means the Copyright Office has actually acted on the application—not merely that the owner filed it. In plain terms: you can't run to the courthouse the day you discover infringement; you need a registration (or a refusal) in hand first. If the application is refused, you may still sue by serving notice and a copy of the complaint on the Register of Copyrights. 17 U.S.C. § 411(a). But if your derivative work isn't on file with the Office when infringement strikes, you face a delay—and possibly a damaging one, because the Office's ordinary processing can take many months.

There is now a smaller-claims alternative. For modest disputes, the Copyright Claims Board (CCB), the small-claims tribunal created by the CASE Act and housed in the Copyright Office, offers a streamlined forum. A claimant must have registered the work or filed an application before bringing a CCB claim, and the Office must issue a registration before the Board can render a final determination. 17 U.S.C. § 1505. The CCB caps damages and is voluntary (respondents can opt out), but for a low-value derivative work it can be a cost-effective path that a full federal suit is not.

You unlock statutory damages and attorney's fees. This is the big one. Under 17 U.S.C. § 412, you can recover statutory damages (up to $150,000 per work for willful infringement under § 504(c)) and attorney's fees only if the work was registered before the infringement began—or, for a published work, within three months of first publication. Without timely registration, you're limited to actual damages and the infringer's profits, which can be hard to prove and modest in amount. For a small derivative work, the difference between "actual damages of $400" and "statutory damages plus fees" can be the difference between a case worth bringing and one that isn't.

You get prima facie evidence of validity. A registration made within five years of first publication is prima facie evidence of the copyright's validity and of the facts stated in the certificate. 17 U.S.C. § 410(c). In litigation, that shifts the practical burden to the defendant to attack your copyright.

You foreclose certain defenses and gain border protection. Registration (paired with notice) can defeat an innocent-infringement defense that would otherwise mitigate damages. 17 U.S.C. §§ 401(d), 402(d). And you can record your registration with U.S. Customs and Border Protection to help intercept infringing imports. 19 C.F.R. § 133.31.

The bottom line: for a derivative work of any commercial significance, register early—ideally before publication or within three months of it. (For the full strategic picture, see our master guide on copyright registration and the practical walkthrough on how to register a copyright with the U.S. Copyright Office.)

Registering a Derivative Work, Field by Field

Here is where the rubber meets the road—and where most applications go sideways. Registering a derivative work is mechanically similar to registering any work through the Copyright Office's electronic registration system (eCO), but several fields require special care precisely because of the golden rule: you are claiming only the new material, not the underlying work.

First, Choose the Right Application

Most derivative works must be filed on the standard application, which is the form for one work that is a derivative work, a compilation, a joint work, or a work made for hire. 37 C.F.R. § 202.3(b)(2). The simpler, cheaper single application is reserved for one work by a single author who solely owns it and that is not a work made for hire—and it is generally not the right vehicle for a derivative work that incorporates someone else's material or that has multiple authors. Choosing the single application for a multi-author or work-made-for-hire derivative is a common filing error that can invalidate or delay the registration. Group registration options (for serials, newsletters, contributions to periodicals, unpublished works, and the like under 17 U.S.C. § 408(c) and 37 C.F.R. § 202.4) are available for certain categories but are not the typical path for a single derivative work.

The Copyright Office's longstanding guidance—Circular 14, Copyright in Derivative Works and Compilations—explains how to complete each field. Mistakes here are the leading cause of delayed or rejected derivative-work applications. Let's go through the fields that matter most.

Author and "Author Created"

Name the author or authors of the new, copyrightable material you are claiming—and only that material. Do not name the author of the previously published, previously registered, or public-domain material that you incorporated, unless that same person also authored the new material.

In the "what this author created" field, describe the new authorship in standard terms—for example: "text," "translation," "music," "lyrics," "musical arrangement," "photographs," "artwork," or "compilation." If your work is a translation, you are the author of the "translation," not the author of the underlying novel.

Worked example: Maria translates a contemporary Italian novel into English under a license from the Italian publisher. On the application, Maria is the author; what she created is "English translation." She does not list the Italian novelist as an author of her claim. The Italian novel is the preexisting material—she'll handle it in the "material excluded" field below.

Copyright Claimant

The claimant is either the author of the new material or a person or organization that has obtained from that author all of the author's rights. If the claimant isn't the author, you'll need a brief transfer statement explaining how the claimant got the rights—for example, "by written agreement" or "by inheritance." (Don't mail in copies of the transfer documents; the Office doesn't want them with the application.)

If the claimant's name differs from the author's name but they're the same legal person, explain the relationship—e.g., "Doe Publishing Company, solely owned by John Doe," or "John Doe doing business as Doe Recording Company."

Year of Completion and Publication

The year of completion is the year in which this particular version—the derivative work you're registering—was first fixed in a copy or phonorecord, even if earlier versions exist or you plan further changes. Don't confuse completion with publication.

Publication has a specific statutory meaning: the distribution of copies or phonorecords to the public by sale, transfer of ownership, rental, lease, or lending, or the offering to distribute copies to a group for further distribution, performance, or display. 17 U.S.C. § 101. A few things that feel like "publishing" are not publication: performing the work publicly, making phonorecords, or sending a copy to the Copyright Office. If your derivative work has been published, give the exact month, day, and year of first publication. If it hasn't been published, leave the publication date blank. Getting the published/unpublished distinction right matters, because it drives the deposit requirements and the three-month window for the timely-registration benefits under § 412.

Previous Registration

If neither this version nor any earlier version of the work has ever been registered, leave this field blank. If a previous registration was issued—say, you registered version 1.0 of your software two years ago and you're now registering version 4.0—provide the requested information about that earlier registration. This tells the examiner that you're aware of the prior claim and helps the Office understand the relationship between the registrations.

Limitation of Claim: The Three Magic Subfields

This is the single most important part of a derivative-work application, and it has components that, done right, make the whole thing work. You complete the "limitation of claim" section whenever the work being registered contains an appreciable amount of material that:

was previously published,
was previously registered in the U.S. Copyright Office,
is in the public domain, or
is owned by a third party.

In other words, whenever there's underlying material your claim does not cover, you flag it here. The limitation section has two key fields:

"Material Excluded." Here you give a brief identification of the preexisting work or works that your derivative is based on or incorporates. You are telling the Office, "I am not claiming this part." For a film based on a novel, the material excluded is the underlying "text." For a new musical arrangement, it's the underlying "music." For a revised edition that keeps most of the original, it's the "preexisting text."

"New Material Included." Here you briefly describe, in general terms, all the new copyrightable authorship that your claim does cover. Everything you listed in "author created" should be accounted for here. If your only claim is in the compilation, you'd say "compilation." If your claim covers both compilation and new content, identify both—e.g., "compilation and foreword," or "compilation of photographs, additional photography, and foreword."

The Copyright Office's own examples make the pattern crystal clear. Memorize the shape of these and you'll never misfile a derivative claim:

Work	Material Excluded	New Material Included
Motion picture based on the novel Little Women	Text	Entire motion picture
New piano arrangement of preexisting music	Music	Musical arrangement
Two-act play expanded into a three-act play	Preexisting text	Text of third act
Revised catalog adding new text and photographs	Text, photographs	Text, photographs
Annotated edition of a public-domain novel	Preexisting text	Annotations, introduction, foreword
Version 4.0 of a previously registered program	Preexisting computer code	Revised and additional computer code

Notice the discipline in each row. The "excluded" column names what you took; the "included" column names what you made. Get these two columns right and your application tells a coherent, accurate story about exactly what you own.

A Special Case: The "Whole Work" Claim in a Motion Picture

The Little Women example deserves a moment, because it confuses people. How can the material excluded be "Text" while the new material included is the "Entire motion picture"? Because the motion picture—as a fixed audiovisual work with its cinematography, performances, score, editing, and direction—is, as a whole, a new and original work of authorship, even though its plot and dialogue derive from the novel. The film claim is so thoroughly new that it can be described as the entire motion picture, while still acknowledging that the underlying narrative text came from elsewhere. The exclusion of "Text" preserves the truthful point that the claim doesn't reach the novel's words as such.

Accuracy and the Knowledge Standard: Unicolors v. H&M

One more reason to take the limitation-of-claim fields seriously: an inaccurate application can be used to attack your registration in litigation. Under 17 U.S.C. § 411(b), a registration certificate satisfies the registration requirement even with inaccurate information unless the applicant included the inaccuracy with knowledge that it was inaccurate and the inaccuracy, if known, would have caused the Register to refuse registration. The Supreme Court clarified the knowledge prong in Unicolors, Inc. v. H&M Hennes & Mauritz, L.P., 595 U.S. 178 (2022), holding that § 411(b)'s safe harbor forgives mistakes of law as well as mistakes of fact—an applicant who genuinely (even if unreasonably) misunderstands the legal requirements does not "know" its application is inaccurate. That is reassuring for honest filers, but it is not a license to be sloppy: a deliberate or willfully blind misdescription of what you created (or what you took) can still sink the registration and, with it, your infringement claim. The lesson is to describe the new material and the excluded material truthfully and precisely.

Worked Examples Across Media

Let's put the framework to work in the four domains where derivative-work questions come up most.

Translations

A translation is the paradigmatic derivative work. Each translated sentence reflects creative choices—word selection, register, idiom, rhythm—so translations easily clear the originality bar. The translator owns the translation; the original author still owns the original. To register: the translator is the author, "translation" is what was created, the underlying work is "Material Excluded: text (or 'the original [language] novel')," and "New Material Included: English translation." If the underlying novel is still under copyright, the translator needs a license to make the translation lawfully—otherwise § 103(a) leaves the translation unprotected and the act of translating may infringe.

Musical Arrangements

Arrangements are a minefield, so tread carefully. A new arrangement of a public-domain melody is freely permitted, and the arranger owns the new harmonies, voicings, and orchestration (assuming they're substantial—a trivial transposition or a bare chord-symbol chart may not clear Durham's originality bar). A new arrangement of a copyrighted song requires the songwriter's permission; the mechanical (compulsory) license to make and distribute a cover recording under 17 U.S.C. § 115 lets you record your own version of a previously released song, but it does not authorize you to register or claim copyright in your arrangement—§ 115 specifically says the compulsory license doesn't grant you a derivative-work copyright in the arrangement unless the copyright owner consents. So: arrange a public-domain tune freely; for a copyrighted song, get written consent before claiming the arrangement. (Our band-focused guide on understanding copyright registration for a song goes deeper on the music side, and music licensing in the streaming era covers the mechanical-royalty plumbing.)

Software Versions

Every new version of a program is, in copyright terms, a derivative of the prior version. Version 4.0 incorporates code from version 3.0 and adds new code. You register version 4.0 as a derivative work: the new and revised code is the "New Material Included," and the prior, previously-registered code is the "Material Excluded." If version 3.0 was registered, list that prior registration. Because software registration also involves deposit-copy rules and trade-secret redaction options, the mechanics get involved—see our dedicated guide on copyright registration of computer programs and the broader treatment in legal protection of software. One practical tip: companies that ship frequent updates often don't register every minor version; they register meaningful releases, understanding that each registration's protection reaches the new code in that release. And remember that incorporating third-party or open-source code raises its own lawfulness questions under § 103(a)—make sure the licenses permit what you're shipping. (See open source licensing landmines in enterprise software development.)

Visual Art: Reproductions, Adaptations, and Format Changes

Visual art is where the Durham originality problem bites hardest. A faithful three-dimensional rendering of a two-dimensional character (the Tomy toys) may not clear the bar. A photographic reproduction of a flat public-domain painting may get no copyright at all (Bridgeman). But a genuine creative adaptation—a sculptor's interpretive figurine that adds real artistic choices, an illustrator's new drawing inspired by but distinct from a photograph, a poster artist's stylized reworking of an image—will qualify, with protection limited to the new creative choices. When registering, exclude the preexisting image and claim the new artwork: "Material Excluded: photograph (or painting); New Material Included: [sculpture / illustration / 2-D artwork]."

Notice on Derivative Works

A quick word on copyright notice, because derivative works raise a common question: whose notice goes on the work?

For works published on or after March 1, 1989 (the date the U.S. joined the Berne Convention), copyright notice is optional—you don't lose your copyright by leaving it off. Before that date, notice was effectively mandatory, and works published without it risked falling into the public domain (with some statutory cures available for the January 1, 1978–February 28, 1989 window under 17 U.S.C. § 405). So any pre-1989 publication should have carried a proper notice.

For a derivative work, it's perfectly acceptable—and often genuinely helpful—to include a notice for both the original material and the new material, especially when different parties own different layers. The Copyright Office's classic illustration: a previously registered book that gains only a new introduction might bear "© 1941 John Doe; introduction © 2008 Mary Smith." That tells the world exactly who owns what and from when. Even though notice is now optional, using it preserves the ability to defeat an innocent-infringement defense under § 401(d). For the full mechanics, see our guide on copyright notice—form, function, and best practices.

Common Mistakes (and How to Avoid Them)

In our experience, derivative-work registrations stumble for a handful of recurring reasons. Avoid these and your application will move smoothly:

Claiming the whole work instead of the new material. The most frequent error. If you claim authorship of material you didn't create—say, you list yourself as author of the underlying novel you merely translated—the examiner will question the claim and your registration may be inaccurate. An inaccurate registration can be challenged later under 17 U.S.C. § 411(b) (subject to the Unicolors knowledge standard), so accuracy matters beyond just getting the certificate.
Forgetting to complete the limitation-of-claim fields. If your work plainly contains substantial preexisting material and you leave "material excluded" blank, the Office will follow up, costing you time.
Naming the wrong author or claimant. List only the author(s) of the new material, and get the claimant and any transfer statement right.
Choosing the single application by mistake. A multi-author or work-made-for-hire derivative belongs on the standard application. The single application is for one author who solely owns a non-hire work.
Confusing completion with publication. They're different fields with different meanings. Date the version's first fixation as completion; date public distribution as publication (and leave it blank if unpublished).
Adapting copyrighted material without permission. The fatal one. An unauthorized derivative is unprotectable under § 103(a) and may be infringement. Secure a license first—and confirm a supposedly public-domain source wasn't restored under the URAA.
Expecting thick protection from a thin claim. Set realistic expectations: a lightly revised edition gets narrow protection in the revisions, not in the underlying work.

When You Got It Wrong: Supplementary Registration

If you discover an error or omission in a derivative-work registration after the certificate issues—say, you described the new material imprecisely or left out a relevant prior registration—you can file a supplementary registration under 17 U.S.C. § 408(d) to correct or amplify the information. The Office assigns the supplementary registration its own number and effective date, and cross-references it to the basic registration; the original stays in the record. Supplementary registration fixes information errors; it doesn't substitute for registering genuinely new material, and it doesn't cure a fundamentally defective deposit. If your "correction" is really an attempt to claim authorship you originally (and correctly) excluded, you may instead need a fresh basic registration for that new material. When in doubt about which path to take, consult the Office's guidance or qualified counsel.

Key Takeaways

A derivative work (17 U.S.C. § 101) is a new work based on a preexisting work—translations, adaptations, arrangements, new editions, software versions, and the like—that adds original, copyrightable authorship.
Under 17 U.S.C. § 103(b), copyright in a derivative work reaches only the new material the author contributed, never the preexisting material. A derivative cannot extend, revive, or enlarge the copyright in the underlying work—and the derivative author's rights remain tethered to the underlying work (Stewart v. Abend).
A derivative work must be lawfully made. Under § 103(a), material used unlawfully gets no protection, and unauthorized adaptation infringes the owner's § 106(2) right.
The new material must clear the originality bar—Feist (some minimal creativity, not mere effort) and Durham Industries (more than a trivial variation). Even when it qualifies, the resulting copyright is often thin.
Register to unlock the right to sue (§ 411(a); Fourth Estate), the Copyright Claims Board option (§ 1505), statutory damages and fees (§ 412), and prima facie validity (§ 410(c)). Register early—ideally before or within three months of publication.
On the application, choose the standard application, then claim only the new material: name the right author and claimant, and use the limitation-of-claim fields—"Material Excluded" (what you took) and "New Material Included" (what you made)—to tell an accurate story about exactly what you own. Inaccuracies can be raised under § 411(b), tempered by the Unicolors knowledge standard.

Frequently Asked Questions

Can I copyright a translation of someone else's book? Yes—a translation is a classic derivative work, and you own the copyright in your translation (not the original). But if the underlying book is still under copyright, you need the rights holder's permission to make the translation. Without a license, your translation is both unprotectable under § 103(a) and potentially an infringement of the author's right to prepare derivative works.

If I make a new edition of my book, does that reset the copyright clock on the whole book? No. This is the most common misconception about derivative works. Your new edition's copyright protects only the new material—the revisions, new chapters, updated content. The original text keeps its own, original copyright term. You cannot extend the protection of the underlying work by issuing a new edition. 17 U.S.C. § 103(b).

Do I need to register the underlying work separately? It depends on what you own and want to protect. Your derivative registration covers only the new material. If you also own the underlying work and it isn't registered, you may want to register it separately to secure the litigation and statutory-damages benefits for that material too. If the underlying work belongs to someone else or is in the public domain, you have nothing to register there—and you exclude it on your application.

What if my "new material" is really small—just a few edits? Then you may not have a registrable derivative work at all. Under Durham Industries and Gracen, the new contribution must be more than a "merely trivial" variation; a one-word change or a mechanical format shift won't carry a derivative copyright. And even substantial-but-modest contributions yield only "thin" copyright that protects little. Be honest with yourself about how much you actually added.

Can I make and copyright a derivative work based on a public-domain novel? Absolutely—and you don't need anyone's permission, because no one owns the public-domain work. Your copyright will protect the original elements you add (your screenplay, your illustrations, your new prose), but not the underlying public-domain text. And because the source is public domain, anyone else remains free to create a completely different adaptation of the same work. Just confirm the work is genuinely public domain in the U.S. and wasn't restored to copyright under the URAA.

What's the difference between a derivative work and a compilation? A derivative work recasts or transforms preexisting material into something new (a novel becomes a film). A compilation selects, coordinates, and arranges preexisting materials or data without necessarily transforming any single one (an anthology gathers existing stories). Both get copyright only in the new contribution—the transformation in one case, the creative selection and arrangement in the other—and neither protects the underlying material. See our guide on contributions to a collective work.

I'm releasing version 5 of my software. How do I register it? Register it as a derivative work on the standard application. The new and modified code is your "New Material Included"; the previously published or registered code is "Material Excluded." If a prior version was registered, list that prior registration. Software deposits have special rules (including options to redact trade-secret portions), so review our guide on copyright registration of computer programs.

Does registering a derivative work give me any rights in the original? No. Registration of a derivative work confers no exclusive rights in the preexisting material and does not affect the underlying work's copyright in any way. 17 U.S.C. § 103(b). Your rights begin and end with what you created.

My registration described the new material a little imprecisely. Is my copyright void? Probably not. Under 17 U.S.C. § 411(b) and the Supreme Court's decision in Unicolors v. H&M, an inaccuracy only defeats a registration if the applicant knew it was inaccurate (a standard that forgives good-faith mistakes of fact and law) and the error, if known, would have caused the Register to refuse registration. Honest imprecision is generally survivable, but a deliberate misdescription is not. When the stakes are high, consider a supplementary registration to clean up the record.

This article provides general information about copyright law and is not legal advice. Copyright questions are fact-specific and the law can change; before acting on any matter discussed here, consult a qualified attorney licensed in your jurisdiction.