See, that's always the argument that Mom and I always get into. Boston, I hope you chime in on this one, because I really want to hear what you think.
My mom -- and all my teachers in school -- were of your mind: poor Walter, what a sad creature.
I don't see it that way. My logic is, most of us in the world are living variations of that life of quiet desperation. Some part of our life is dull, frustrating, demeaning, you name it. Life isn't perfect. Maybe Walter's is a little more pathetic than most, but you wouldn't like him if you couldn't identify with him in some way, right?
But Walter has found a way to cope. A WONDERFUL way to cope. I say, "good on him!"
Yeah, I know the argument, he's putting energy into daydreaming when he could be actually fixing things. He's daydreaming instead of facing life. And I don't disagree with those points. I guess it's an emotional reaction with me: I still get this little frisson of "you go, dude!" when life craps on him and he says, "screw you, I'm going to live inside my head."
Isn't that what we're doing when we're writing? And what our readers are doing when they're reading our stories? It's a big case of "I reject your reality and substitute my own!"
Thought?