“HENRY FORD OF FICTION."

Shannon News, 31 December 1928, Page 1

“HENRY FORD OF FICTION."

BUSIEST MAN IN LONDON AND RICH LONDON, Oct. 10. Edgar Wallace, whose plays and books are as popular in New Zealand as in London, has applied mass production methods to fiction. He churns out novels and dramas with almost unbelievable rapidity, and this year modestly- hopes to beat his 1027 record of twenty-six books and six plays. Galloping madly down the departure platform of the Paddington (London) station came a messenger boy. Panting, he struggled up to a man who was about to board the train, and delivered a package, which, it developed, contained a three-act play. Twenty Plays in Three Years. All London to-day is talking about Edgar Wallace. His income, his habits, his hours of work, are subjects of heated debate. Perhaps the general public, that part of the general public that does not read his stories or- go. to his plays, first began to take notice when lie gave a banquet in the Savoy hotel some time ago to the people lie was then employing in his various plays on view ifi four London theatres. Five hundred and ninety sat down at table. Edgar Wallace jokes are getting as common as Ford jokes used to'be. Here is one of the best: Wallace's' butter, in his 'mansion in Portland Place, is answering tho 'phone. “I’m sorry, sir, I can't put you through. - Mr. Wallace is finishing a new play and left word that he must not be disturbed. What’s that, sirl You’ll hold the w r ire ? ’' •

But creative literature does not absorb all of Wallace's time, although bis speed of output in the last three years has increased in geometrical ratio, so that in 1925 he wrote twice as many novels and stories as in 1921, and so on, until in 1927 he produced twenty-six novels and at least six plays.* This year he modestly hopes to do better.

Wallace is a dramatic critic—-a job that cuts into his evenings. He writes about plays for the “Morning Post.” He is also a racing expert. His attendance at race meetings and his expert articles on tha turf, which appear in evening and Sunday organs, cut into his afternoons.

The bulk of his,-purely literary output, he told an interviewer is, perforce, produced in Ms mornings. He.- is per 5 imps more proud of his racing art.ele* than his other work, and thousands allow his tipf, although his reputation suffered somewhat whdn he assured millions that tho favourite , “cannot possibly lose” the Derby this year, the /avouritc finished twelfth. “Strange Countess” In Four Days. It is said that he dictates his nov,eU ■nd plays into a dictaphone, and that his wife and his corps of secretaries; ittend to the rest, without troublin' iiim to read over what he has uttered

This is probably exaggerated. It does fiot square with his confession to an nterviewer - who asked him which o •is novels took him the shortest tiim tr. write and which the longest.

‘‘ A firm of publishers asked me o: i'liurs'day for a novel of 70,00.0 word ,v noon on Monday. Working !■' lours a day, dictating it all to a typ ;-t, with my wife doing the correction delivered ‘‘The Strange Countess’ I) Monday mprning. If anyone want :o give me a present he might seni .10 a copy. I should like to read it.’ ‘‘ And your, most dilatory effort?” "That was ‘The Gunner.” It toot no several weeks. But this apparent 'ethargy was due to the fact. that, dur .uthe same period I. had to write-c •ovcl called ‘ ‘ The Flying Squad, ’ ’ : day of the same name, and a pin; called, I think, “The Man Who Chang ; his Xu me. ’ ” Does He Make £50,000 a Year?

'Wallace has cut out the middleman a order to increase his profits on tin t; ga. He says he made only £fioo( at 9 of a shocker caled “The Ringer,’ ]>i!e Frank Curzon, the thoatnca lanager - who put it on, cleared £-0, ■;)(). "Accord ugly, Wallace is now hi; •,vn impressario. After he has written is plays, die casts them himself, pay.ll the 1 expenses, hires the theatres, and takes the profits or stands the losses. This leads- to the query, “How much money does Edgar \\ allace make?” Ho won’t say. Three nights running at. dinner the conversation turned first to plays and then to Mr. Wallace; and almost im media tel v came the inevitable question*: “Does he rmtllv write a play ii. t week.”’ and “Does he really make £50,000 a year?” People even ask Mr. Wallace him self. - “And what do you reply?” asked an interviewer. “1. say, ‘How much do you make?’.”