On My 25th Anniversary as an Author: A Few Things I’d Like to Share

When I try it on for size, it hardly seems to fit – 25 years as an author! Hard for me to believe. But it’s true: my first book, Dark Tide: The Great Boston Molasses Flood of 1919, was published in September 2003, but I first started researching the book in 2000. I’ll spare you the “Can you believe how time flies?” incredulity, but then again…whew.

When people ask me what I’ve learned in the last two-and-a-half decades – and I appreciate their interest in doing so – my answer is a variation on the question: “What haven’t I learned?” Writing narrative history teaches you a lot – about yourself and others, about time management and creativity, about the big picture and the small details, about balancing nose-to-the-grindstone work with time to allow my subconscious to sift through stuff while I’m watching football, about getting history “right” – or as close to right as possible – about the importance of human connections when working at a task that is essentially solitary.

There are a few big things that jump out at me, over and over again, that I’d like to share with you. I’ve grouped them under three categories – I hope you enjoy them.

1. My readers (YOU) are amazing – and I’m grateful for your support.

Confession time – before I became an author, I don’t think I EVER wrote to an author to comment on a book, or suggest a book topic, or swap historical tidbits, or anything of the sort.  My readers (YOU!) do it all the time and I love it.

You are the best in the business! You communicate with me often (and I with you), share your own stories, and tell me frequently how my books affect you. I can’t imagine an author with more loyal and engaged readers – nor can I imagine an author more grateful for such reader support.

There’s an age-old question that writers get asked: “Who do you write for?” The standard “writer” answer goes something like: “I write for me and everything else takes care of itself.” To some extent, I suppose that’s true – but for me, I also spend a great deal of time envisioning you when I’m crafting a sentence, or a scene, or a chapter. I don’t write for reviewers, or other authors, or academics. I write for my readers, the thousands I’ve met over two-and-a-half decades, and hopefully thousands more who will enjoy my books. I write for YOU, the person with one of my books on the nightstand who has only a few minutes to read before sleep; or who has worked hard all day and wants to knock off a few pages before dinner. So I wonder as I’m writing: Is this scene too long without a break? Is this chapter too dense? Is there a way to cut this material so the action moves faster?

I fully realize and respect that I’m in competition for your time and with other demands you have swirling around you – family, friends, work, personal issues. My job – my obligation, as I see it – is to make my work as interesting and as fulfilling as possible so you’ll be drawn to it despite your other commitments. You have always been honest about how I’m doing – please continue to be!

 

2. My experience has taught me to “give back” whenever possible.

I’ve worked extremely hard in my career, but I also know I’ve been fortunate. As the years have passed, I’ve become more aware of this and have done my best to assist others with their writing and research projects whenever possible.

I’ve spoken to many fine writers who have had trouble publishing their writing, or even finding an agent, through no fault of their own. In some ways, the writing business is serendipitous and random, and even cruel sometimes. Getting published is hard, and often there is no seeming rhyme or reason as to who gets a “yes” or who doesn’t. I’ve been truly blessed in my career – I found an agent (a great one!) quickly (and we have been partners for my whole career), publishers have signed nine book deals with me (eight published and one on the way!), and readers have been incredibly generous in buying my books. If I can help new writers get published (and I have!) by encouraging them to take a risk and WRITE, by reviewing their proposals, sample chapters, or completed manuscripts – and it gets them closer to experiencing their own joy – that’s a win for them and very satisfying for me.

I’ve also tried to extend this assistance as often as I can to students – from middle school through college and even graduate students. I speak often at schools and conclude every event by telling the kids to feel free to send me samples of their writing if they’d like comments, or to reach out if they need help on a history project. I’m happy and honored to say that MANY have done just that. I’ve reviewed and offered advice on History Day projects, college entrance essays, and Ph.D. dissertations.

I’m always impressed with students – connecting with young people about history, writing, and life in general has been one of the lasting and profound gifts I’ve received over the last two-and-a-half decades.

 

3. I’m humbled by the support of others.

I’m certainly not the first author to say it, but I say it often and will say it again – writing is a solitary act, but “authoring” requires a great deal of support. I’ve been blessed to be the recipient of so much wonderful help and assistance.

It starts with my wife Kate, who has been by my side since the beginning of this author (and life!) journey, and it ripples out to family members, friends, colleagues, and professionals who have offered their unwavering encouragement and extraordinary talents to help make me a better author, and in the process, a better person.

When Kate and I first made the decision (together) in 2000 for me to give the author gig a chance, it certainly was a risk; neither of us knew what to expect. I had a full-time career in the corporate communications business – public relations, speech coaching, speechwriting, sales support, and marketing. But even in those very early days, so many people fueled me with their encouragement (support that has only blossomed over time).

When Dark Tide was accepted for publication, Kate and I jumped for joy, and so did many people who were in my corner from the outset! Those who are taking this journey with me – some for the entire 25 years and others who have joined more recently – have humbled me with all they’ve done. My gratitude knows no bounds. You have given me the chance to live the dream – that is to say, my dream. I recognize it and count my blessings every day, and never, ever take it for granted.

Thank you so much for riding along with me. I hope you’ll always stay on board.

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What Didn’t Make It Into
THE GREAT ABOLITIONIST

Note from Stephen Puleo: I’ve been thrilled by the wonderful reader reactions to The Great Abolitionist: Charles Sumner’s Fight for a More Perfect Union, many of whom have written to let me know how much they enjoyed the book. But as with any work of history, some revealing stories had to be dropped for space and narrative reasons. And with Charles Sumner’s involvement in so many issues, the “some” becomes “many” – vignettes that shed light on this accomplished and complex man. Periodically, I’ll feature a “dropped story” in this blog space.

Dropped Story 3: A Midnight Treaty

Charles Sumner’s moral courage and authenticity on the great issues of slavery and equal rights helped him exert influence on many other matters.  The U.S. acquisition of “Russian America” – the massive territory that would become known as Alaska – was one of them.

On Friday evening, March 29, 1867, the night before the “Reconstruction” Congress was scheduled to adjourn, Charles Sumner received a messenger at his home carrying a cryptic note from the secretary of state. “Can you come to my home this evening?” William Seward asked.  “I have a matter of public business [which makes it] desirable that I should confer with you at once.”

Perplexed and curious, Sumner donned his coat at once and rushed to Seward’s house, where the secretary’s son, Frederick, the assistant secretary of state, said his father had already left for the State Department offices.  Another man arrived at the Seward house about the same time as Sumner – Russian minister Edward de Stoeckl – and he and Frederick Seward explained to Sumner the reason for the secretary’s mysterious note and unusual evening summons.

In his bag, Stoeckl carried the rough draft of a proposed treaty ceding all of Russian America, a vast territory of 580,000 square miles, to the United States for a purchase price of $7.2 million.  The cession of this area that was twice the size of the State of Texas – stretching from Sitka in the Southeast corner, to well North of the Yukon River and the Arctic Circle, to a rugged Western coastline that bordered the Bering Strait, to the Aleutian Islands whose footprints dotted the North Pacific nearly to Russian Siberia – required a formal treaty between the U.S. and Russia.  

Because the Senate was constitutionally obligated to provide “advice and consent” before any treaty was ratified, the Senate’s Foreign Affairs Committee, chaired by Sumner, would have first review and be responsible for either recommending approval to the full Senate, or scuttling the deal overall without the proposal ever reaching the Senate floor.  

Sumner was stunned; this was the first he’d heard of the potentially massive land acquisition that would dramatically increase the physical size of the United States.  He never knew such a staggering deal was under consideration.  Sumner would discover over the next several hours that Seward, who had envisioned an expansion of the Pacific Northwest for years, had been negotiating in secret with Russia for the territory since shortly after the Civil War had ended.  

Because the Congressional session ended the next day and he was anxious for the Senate to act, Seward suggested the two diplomatic corps hammer out the treaty throughout the night.  Seward tasked his son with finding Sumner while Stoeckl notified his staff members and sent them to the State Department.  

Sumner listened until about midnight, without offering his opinion, as Frederick Seward and Stoeckl went through the treaty’s provisions and showed a map of the land the Russians were ceding.  Then the two diplomats left for the State Department where the formal engrossing and signing of the treaty would take place before it was presented to the Senate (the Russian and American teams would not finish working until 4:00 a.m. Saturday).

As the three men parted ways – Sumner was heading home – Stoeckl left him with a plea and a prediction:

“You will not fail us,” the Russian minister said. 

Indeed, Seward and Stoeckl needed Charles Sumner to endorse the treaty with all the enthusiasm he could muster. 


At first, Sumner had mixed feelings about the proposed treaty with Russia.

He was pleased that the acquisition of Russian America would rid the North American continent of another foreign power, and with the Russians out of the picture, the U.S. could begin to “squeeze England out of the continent.”

On the other hand, he was worried that endorsing the treaty would be interpreted mistakenly as lending his support to President Andrew Johnson’s foreign policy or, worse, to the Johnson administration itself.  If Sumner had such doubts, he presumed other members of the Foreign Relations Committee, and the Senate as a whole, would too.  

The next morning, after Seward and Stoeckl had signed the treaty, Seward visited the Capitol and urged immediate ratification by the Senate – but Sumner blocked the move by recommending it be referred to his committee.  Seward was miffed, but the astute Stoeckl contended that Sumner’s move likely saved the treaty.  The secrecy of the negotiations to this point would have raised suspicions among senators. “If it has been immediately submitted to a vote, it would have been rejected,” the Russian minister said later. 

Despite his own misgivings, Sumner announced his intention to support the expansion, believing it to be “a visible step in the [U.S.] occupation of the whole North American continent.” That alone was an important signal to lawmakers, but he wanted to speak further on the issue and allow his colleagues time to ponder the major accession. 

On April 8, Sumner delivered a two-and-three-quarter hour speech to the full Senate, with only a single sheet of notes in front of him.  It focused on the history and boundaries of Russian America, some of the natural resources in the region, and the advantages of annexation.  Senators were so impressed with his memory and recall of facts that they asked him to write out his speech for publication. Sumner agreed and then moved to ratify the treaty.

By a vote of 37-2, the Senate approved it, a show of unity “designed principally to emphasize American good will toward Russia,” according to one account.

Sumner was correct when he wrote that “my course had a decisive influence” on the treaty’s final passage.


Sumner had one final and exhaustive task to complete on the matter.

To rouse enthusiasm among the American people for a treaty that had yet to generate excitement – Sumner spent the next weeks reading reports, books, journals, atlases, newspapers, and pamphlets on Russian America.  These sources were written in English, French, German, and Italian – all of which he was fluent in – as well as Russian, which he had translated. It was a remarkable compendium – an “encyclopedia of facts” and the first full treatment – of history and natural resources in the new territory. 

Not only did Sumner’s work, circulated widely in pamphlet form in the United States, help convince the American public of the merits of the treaty, a separate edition published in St. Petersburg convinced many Russians that the sale was in their national interests as well.  The monograph helped persuade House members in the next Congressional session to appropriate the purchase price specified in the treaty.

The conclusion of Sumner’s treatise focused on what he viewed as the last remaining issue: what to call the new territory.  The name “Russian America” was obviously no longer appropriate.  Happily, he wrote, a potential name existed already.  It first appeared in a report on the third voyage of British Captain James Cook. It was the “sole word” used by natives of Russian America when “speaking of the American continent in general, which they knew perfectly well to be a great land.”  

They called it: “Alaska.”  

And so, too, did the U.S. Congress.

On the afternoon of October 18, 1867, flanked by detachments of Russian and American troops, dignitaries from both countries convened in Sitka, Alaska, for the formal transfer ceremony.  Speeches were delivered, the Russian flag lowered, and the American flag raised to signify and complete the formal transfer of the Territory of Alaska – as large as Sweden, Finland, and Denmark combined – to the United States.  It would not have happened without Charles Sumner’s endorsement and diplomacy.

Over the next two decades, the Alaskan geographic landmarks of Sumner Creek, Sumner Island, Sumner Strait, and the Sumner Mountains were all named to acknowledge and honor Charles Sumner’s contribution to the enormous acquisition from Russia.

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