Today is the day in 1955 that Vladimir Nabokov’s novel Lolita was first published.
Why could I possibly be celebrating a story I haven’t even read about middle-aged man who falls in love with a 12-year-old girl? Not for the story, or the subject matter, or even as a statement about censorship and publishing. No, I celebrate the publication because it was the turning point in Nabokov’s writing career. This book was so popular that he was able to give up his teaching position and write full-time.
I do not believe it is coincidence that the Writer’s Almanac ran this story today, the day after I wrote about buying a laptop, the modern equivalent of the writer’s Smith-Corona. The day after I wrote a post about dedicating myself more seriously to my writing, about burning my ship, so to speak, so that I had to move forward and conquer.
I think it is still possible to support one’s self entirely on writing. I hope it is and I hope, one day, to do just that.
One more thing…
A brief Craigslist update: I got another e-mail from a second person who knows this college sweetie that told me she’d tell her the next time they talked on the phone. Aha! One step closer this time, as it’s someone who’s actually, currently involved in her life.
Stay tuned for updates!