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?