Tag: Spring 2019

In the early 1960s, Irving Wallace began writing his novel The Man, which placed a black man as the President of the United States long before former President Obama even imagined himself in politics. The novel sold exceedingly well staying at the number one spot on the New York Times bestseller list for months on end.

Many interested parties, including Sammy Davis Jr., considered purchasing film rights to the novel. Ultimately Paramount Pictures made the motion picture starring James Earl Jones as “The Man” and several other stellar actors as his supporting cast.

How did Irving Wallace manage a convincing presidential character as his main protagonist? Well, nine weeks before John F. Kennedy was assassinated, Wallace was able to spend time in the White House working with Kennedy in order to research his novel. JFK was a major influence on Wallace while writing the novel, but so were other figures in history. The cover page Wallace wrote to one of his early manuscript drafts includes the following epithet:

One of the author’s prized possessions is an original autographed manuscript, written firmly with pen on cheap ruled paper, signed by a former Negro slave who became a great reformer, lecturer, writer, adviser to Abraham Lincoln, United States Minister to Haiti, and candidate for Vice-President of the United States on the Equal Rights Party in 1872. The manuscript reads as follows:

“In a composite Nation like ours, made up of almost every variety of the human family, there should be, as before the Law, no rich, no poor, no high, no low, no black, no white, but one country, one citizenship, equal rights and a common destiny for all.

“A Government that cannot or does not protect the humblest citizen in his right to life, Liberty and the pursuit of happiness, should be reformed or overthrown, without delay.

Frederick Douglass

“Washington D.C. Oct. 20. 1883”

When you’re a best-selling author publishing in the 1960s – 1980s, you can get a lot of editing help. At least you can if you’re Irving Wallace. While processing the series based on his book titled The Fan Club, I noted at least 3 editors working with Wallace at different stages. To begin, after he finished an original draft, he went back through it, his wife Sylvia went through it, and usually Wallace would hire an editor or have his secretary retype changes for him. Once the manuscript underwent several rewrites and he felt it was ready
enough, he’d send it along to the publisher who would then send his manuscript to one of their freelance editors (or in house if they had them).

Over time, Wallace got to where he liked the rapport he developed with particular editors and types of revisions or edits they would recommend. As it happened, the one he requested to work with (again) at Simon and Schuster was living in Mexico at the time. The reason I mention that is because some of her cover letters to Wallace often included apologies for lack of regular access to resources like paper.

Apparently his favorite editor was out of paper again. When her editing suggestions arrived for Wallace’s review, they were written on what he called “flyers.” Each flyer was 4″ wide and varying height. They ranged from ½ and inch to 5″ in height depending on how much the editor wrote. As it turns out, each little strip of paper was piece of scrap paper made from the large manila envelope in which one of Wallace’s drafts had undoubtedly arrived. This was, of course, in the 1970s before the advent of home computers or the Internet so editing work might be shipped all over the world between editors, agents, and authors.

That the editor painstakingly wrote out each line that required a suggestion is quite labor-intensive. But for every “flyer” the editor included, Wallace also carefully reviewed it then considered his response. Often he would converse back and forth through the mail with his editors arguing for specific spellings or turns of phrase. Other times he would simply take their suggestions and incorporate them into the next rewrite.

If ever a student thought they could continue going through life with the written-the-night-before paradigm and still be successful, they need only look to someone like Irving Wallace. In each of his book projects he details between 6-10 rewrites before the publisher ever sees it. Then there’s a process of at least 3-7 more drafts with changes and suggestions of his various editors. Additionally, Wallace’s beloved wife read every project with aplomb and enthusiasm, which would bring about another revision. Even at the stage of page proofs, Wallace would incorporate another 3 or 4 sets of revisions. I guess if you want to be a best-seller, that’s the kind of work ethic you need to have.

Irving Wallace was an incredibly prolific writer. Think Tom Clancy or Robert Ludlum and you get the idea. As I’ve continued processing the collection, I’ve learned some interesting things about Wallace’s writing style, his techniques, and his process. I’ve also gained a pet peeve or two about his idiosyncrasies.

A few things I’ve learned in the last few weeks – Irving Wallace was either VERY interested in the topic of sex or he was VERY interested in making money with his work and knew that sex sells. Okay, it’s probably a combination of those things, but it seems like he’s always using sex as a major theme of his work. Last week I wrote about Victoria Woodhull, an exceptional woman who pushed back at the roles available to women during her era and even ran for president. But because she was outspoken about her positive opinions of sex, Wallace labeled her the prostitute who ran for president. There was a lot more about the other women in the collection Nymphos and Other Maniacs as well. Promiscuous women make for good stories seemingly. As another example, in The Celestial Bed, Wallace’s story revolves around a man and woman who have sex with their clients to teach them intimacy and help them resolve their issues. I haven’t actually read the book, but that’s the gist I sussed from working with it. Wallace hit on a theme that worked and kept with it I think.

Another thing I learned about Wallace, like the theme of sex, he never seemed to mind reusing techniques that got a publishing contract. After placing numerous revisions of the manuscript for The Celestial Bed into new acid-free folders, I have now read pretty much the first paragraph of every chapter of the book. They all use the same formula. When (person’s full name) did (this thing: woke up, got to work, whatever), s/he had no idea that (this thing) would happen. It seems a bit cliché, but it works! Over and over I found myself wondering who was this cat Wallace was talking about and why didn’t he or she know that was going to happen. As a matter of fact, how did that happen in the first place? See what he did there? It’s called hooking the reader. Wallace did it well even if formulaically.

A last thing I’ve come to appreciate about Wallace in the last few weeks is just how well he understood his audience. As I’ve insinuated above, he knew his reader, but he even understood his other audiences. On each and every copy of his manuscripts I’ve worked with, Wallace has a little note attached explaining to the archivist and the researcher what this particular draft is about. He usually states how many revisions there were before the first draft that went to the agent or publisher to see if they wanted to buy it. Or how many more revisions were involved after he got that contract. One manuscript I processed today was a draft copy for his wife to review. I cannot fathom it, but apparently she reviewed and edited every single manuscript he wrote. He always took her suggestions into account when revising. It astounds me that one or two years later, sometimes more, Wallace can still remember what every draft was about. Sometimes he cranked out entire books in a mere three months’ time all while working on other projects along the way. All of these things I appreciate, but even Irving Wallace can’t escape pet peeves.

My pet peeve with Wallace? Paper clips. Lots and lots and lots of paper clips. Mind you by now they’ve been replaced by archive-friendly plastic clips, but there seems to be no rhyme or reason for them. Why Irving?! Why did you bundle this set of pages together? And why didn’t you leave any inscriptions about them like you do about the drafts? Sometimes pages are bundled across chapters, sometimes within chapters. Sometimes he bundled huge swaths of papers (30-50 sheets at a time), while others he might choose to clip a mere three pages together. Was this where he stopped reading that day doing revisions? Was this where he stopped writing that day? Maybe,
but who knows. It’s a little thing, but then pet peeves mostly are, right?