Sad, faded attempts at writing books. Nothing is finished.
Everyone who likes to write a little bit, regardless of talent, thinks they have a book in them. The horror of being asked to read someone's manuscript and it's awful, just awful, is, well, just awful.
So I assume that's the reaction others will have when reading my efforts too. Ah, the crippling self-doubt of the writer.
I know I can write, I know I make people laugh. But in a certain format. Can I write characters, with dialogue and make them live? Can I write a bloody chapter? Can I? Who knows? In the end you just have to get your cock out and let everyone look at it. It is what it is.
So, nothing finished, mainly ideas. And some date back more than a decade. Some make me cringe, but I've left them anyway.