O Roam-eo, Roam-eo! Wherefore Art Thou, Roam-eo?

The response to this blog has been overwhelming. Yes, disappointment can come to that degree. I’m not attempting here to use lyrical prose as kindling with which to set the world afire. It was my hope that someone would happen by; perhaps make a comment or two; maybe provide interesting examples of writing, agent-seeking, or allied literary personal experiences; comment on the weather; give a political view; share an anecdote; express a pearl of wisdom; or otherwise contribute words to the cause.

You see, I thought there were plenty of folks out there like me, other search nuts, so to speak. My endeavor to find a literary agent is simply the most recent iteration of my wanderings. It all started when I was in elementary school. I’d look up a word in the dictionary and invariably discover twenty other interesting words before arriving at my word of original destination. I credit my reasonably decent vocabulary to these travels. I enjoyed similar pleasures when journeying through the encyclopedia in pursuit of particular articles. Naturally, I assumed somebody of a similarly squirrelly nature would arrive here by means of some keyword, tell thousands of cousins of Bullwinkle J. Moose’s housemate in Frostbite Falls, Minnesota, and I’d be purchasing one of those take-a-number gizmos that you see at Basket Robbins. Yeah, it’s the place with 31 flavors, I just call it that in deference to my twin daughters, Erin the Teacher and Artist and Regan the Nurse and Sports Authority.

Maybe a drive-by comment will happen soon. Right now, I am ever so reminded of that burning question: If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around, does it make a sound?

Once a Southerner, Always a Southerner

You might ask, “If you love the South so much, why don’t you return?” The sweat factor is definitely right at the top of the list. When my employer moved me to KC in 1992, a number of my cohorts were transplanted at the same time. After we had been here for a couple of months, one of them who had been a coworker and golf partner for a number of years said, “Until I moved here, I didn't know you weren't supposed to need a shower right after you take a shower.”

Another reason for my extended absence is my wife. She has a huge network of really great friends, and I think she would wilt like a shade flower in a sunny garden without them. Our answer is to have a second home in the South when we retire. Being an avid gardener, she will love having two growing seasons.

We make it a practice to visit interesting Southern locations when we can so as to be appropriately informed when the permanent coffee break becomes a reality. So far, we view Charleston and Savannah favorably. Though the natives of the former are as welcoming, gracious, and mannered as anyone you’ll ever meet, they suffer from what I’ll call "locus-focus." In other words, if you weren't born there, you’re from “away.” Savannah, on the other hand, is a gumbo as mysterious as my Louisiana. I’d say they’re blessed with a heaping cupful of hocus-pocus.

An additional aspect of loving the South from afar is that you don’t realize how wonderful it is until you are away. I guess it’s like a lot of things. You just take it for granted. People from other parts of the land don’t quite understand it. There are those of us, though, that fully realize what it means to be American by birth and Southern by the grace of God.

Many aspects of the culture are openly shared. Other things are kept under the radar. A good example, especially in Louisiana, is restaurants. The world knows there is good food in Bayou Country, and they flock to the well-known establishments to get a taste. What they don’t know is that we keep some of the best ones a secret. It’s sort of like the Louisiana flag. On it is pictured a mother pelican in a nest with her young, and under them is a ribbon bearing the state motto: Union Justice and Confidence. What most folks don’t realize is that the ribbon is simply Velcro-attached over the real motto: Laissez les bon temps rouler. (Let the good times roll.)

There is also an amusing little secret involving the wild life of Bourbon Street. Folks travel from the world around to that fabled byway to imbibe, pass a good time, and people watch. They are amazed at how crazy the Louisianans act there. What we know and they have yet to figure out is that the people acting crazy on Rue Bourbon are from everywhere else. Yeah, well, I guess that’s only partially true.

First-time Blog from First-time Novelist

Most of what you see in this first installment is my excess from the About Me section. I knew that limit of 1,200 characters was going to be tough.

Writing my first, and so far only, novel took about two years. Most of it was written on my lunch hours in a cozy loft up a spiral flight of iron stairs in the City Market Coffeehouse in Kansas City. It is a story about a serial killer and the cop and journalist who are pursuing him. As time went by, some of the patrons of the java joint got to know me and what I was doing. When they would ask in passing how the murder business was going, it was always interesting to watch the unknowing quickly finish their bean beverage and depart.

I thought the hard work was done when I put the finishing touches on the story. That was before I began researching the publishing industry and how I was to find literary representation.

The impetus behind this blog is my desire to comment on the experience of writing a novel and the ongoing process of connecting with an agent to make the journey to publication with me. Oh, yeah. It will also, praise Jesus, give me a chance to write something other than query letters. Being multidimensional, I might stray into commentary on issues or even nonsense of the day.

Comments are encouraged. Advice is welcomed.