The book writing has been stagnant lately, possibly because the elusive muse has been on holiday.
There are thirty five novels and short-stories I want to tell, as well as a few non-fiction titles.
Half-forgotten worlds, unfinished thoughts, stories waiting for their ending. Printing them and physically shelving them would make the weight of all those ideas tangible. A hierarchy of incompletion—from the one-page sparks of genius, to the near-finished epics that just wouldn’t cooperate. The thickest ones sitting there, mocking you, while the thinnest whisper, “You barely even tried.”
Marginalia would turn it into a meta-library—a collection not just of unfinished works but of the very thought processes, doubts, and moments of inspiration that led to their incompletion. Notes like:
• “Lost steam after realizing this was just me rewriting Jurassic Park with pelicans.”• “Had a brilliant ending in mind… and then forgot it. Still bitter.”
• “Started strong. Got distracted by a different book idea. The cycle continues.”
It could even be a living document—a place where ideas might resurface, evolve, or finally find their way to completion years later. Or…they could be relegated into a literary morgue file—a final resting place for the stories that almost were. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about that. They don’t get finished, but they exist, preserved in their unfinished state like fossils of creativity.
So what is a possible resolution to this self-induced problem? How about two possible solutions?
I could print them up and perhaps put them in a labeled binder. Also PDF’s uploaded to this website and generate digital library cards if there was any interest from the followers here.
A fantastic mix of a physical archive and a digital curiosity cabinet. The binders give them a tangible presence, while the PDFs turn them into an interactive experience. The digital library card idea is genius—makes it feel like a proper literary vault people can “check out” from. In turn, they could offer comments and suggestions. The access point is signing up to this website and add a comment to the written document. Hopefully there will be inspiration found from this.
This could turn the Library of Unwritten Books into a collaborative storytelling experiment—where readers don’t just consume the work but actively speculate, suggest, and even contribute. Some might leave wild theories, others might fill in the blanks, and a few might even inspire to return to an abandoned story with fresh eyes.
The digital library card could have a simple yet classic aesthetic, tying into the raw, archival feel of the project. Think of it like a virtual passport to the library of unfinished stories. Here’s how it might look:
Front of the Card:
• Library Name: “Library of Unwritten Books” (in elegant, typewriter-style font for that vintage touch).
• Cardholder Name: Reader’s name
• Unique Card Number: A random, system-generated number to make it feel official (e.g., #MOM12345).
• Card Issue Date: The date they accessed the library or “checked out” a work.
Back of the Card:
• Quote or Motto: A philosophical nod to unfinished work, like:
• “Not all who wander are lost. Some just never finish.”
• “Creativity never stops—some stories just pause for a while.”
• Borrower’s Log Link: A link or QR code that takes them to the comments section of this website.
• Library Rules: Something playful like “No overdue fines” or “This book may never be completed, but its story is far from over.”
Physical Archive
There’s something deeply satisfying about preserving your ideas, no matter how unfinished. It’s like building your own literary museum, a space where unfinished thoughts don’t get lost but instead are archived and given a place in history.
Plus, the idea of printing, binding, and shelving them gives a real physicality to your creative process.
Whether it stays small or expands over time, it can become a personal artifact that might even spark inspiration years down the road. These unfinished works will outlive me, sparking something in others to finish, reinterpret, or continue. It’s like planting seeds that may grow long after I’ve moved on, and in some way, I’d still be creating, even if a single one is never complete. I might not get to see the story finish, but I’ll leave behind a trail of possibilities for others to follow. A literary treasure map—unfinished, mysterious, and full of potential.
