Every writer seems to have a backlog of drafts, discarded manuscripts, and unfinished tales that may never see daylight outside of his own notebooks, or might be finished in memoriam by his executors, often with mixed results. Dickens never finished Edwin Drood, nor did Raymond Chandler get more than a few chapters into
Poodle Springs, the last Phillip Marlow book, nor did C. S. Lewis close out The Dark Tower nor After Ten Years about Helen after the fall of Troy. J.R.R.Tolkien’s unpolished corpus is as long as or longer than his primary works, even with his son Christopher’s tireless work. Terry Prachett’s hard drives are gone forever, along with everything about the DiscWorld we’ll never get to know. Robert Ludlum’s Bourne stories were picked up by another writer and Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time was finished to three more books from his notes and outlines after his own Wheels had turned him out into eternity. What I’ll be leaving behind, I have no idea, but I pray it’s still mostly unwritten.
All that being said, I’ve already started my own share of unfinished stories, tales and would-be books I hope to get into print one day. One or two might even be worth finishing.
Followers of this blog, should I accumulate ’em, may find some of these works released in serial form or episodically, gratis, once I crack open the obsolete formats of the files I saved ’em to.