Tales from the Red did not go as I planned.
When I first came up with the idea for the stories, the setting was much bleaker. The Red is a virus, similar to our own Covid-19, but with a 98% mortality rate and only a 2% survival rate. The world I envisioned was one where many people were housebound, working at home, having items delivered from stores and warehouses. Its a world where the police patrol the streets using remote controlled drones. Where people are desperate for contact beyond their bubbles, but are too afraid to reach out and make those contacts in the current situation.
That wasn't conveyed in the stories. They turned into a trio of interconnected personal pieces focusing on a group of people: friends, lovers, estranged family. Just people watching their world tilt and flay from the relative, presumed safety of their homes, scattered across the nation.
There might be pathos there, but it's also a bit dull. And that's all on me.
I'm not happy with Tales from the Red. I've thought about continuing the stories, and going darker and bloodier, but I don't really want to write horror stories. The real world has enough horrors in it, the world of fiction doesn't need to add to that, in my personal opinion.
But I wanted to give an idea as to what I was aiming for with the pieces. And how I feel like I've missed the mark.
Like the title of this post reads, 'Writing is hard.'
