However, I will offer an observation or two here. This very intensive production mode I've been in just lately is new for me. I've always been fast, and I've long been capable of prodigious bursts of output, but now I'm a bit slower and considerably more consistent. But when I'm doing these big days, my brain won't shut off. I have a terrible time getting to sleep, and it almost feels like I'm in an altered state. Which of course makes me wonder if brain imaging studies have been done of writers deeply embedded in their working fugue. In my case, I seriously suspect some different language centers are in play, just as if I were speaking a foreign language. I'd volunteer if someone has the lab and the time.
Anyway, lying awake at night with my brain in gear, things come to me. A week or so ago, I had a conscious insight into what Green is about, thematically. Last night, after I quit writing and went to bed, I had a conscious insight into Green is about, plot-wise. Yes, I know it sounds insane to write 170,000 words then discover the plot, but Fred has been covering my ass quite well. He always does. (Having an outline helps, too.) I don't have much retro-conning to do as a result of this thinking. It's more like discovering the inevitability of the ending inside the gnarled grain of the text.
And I think that's always true of good fiction, or even decent fiction. The nature of the ending is inevitable from the nature of the beginning, but not in an obvious way. It's all about the pacing of the reveal. This is, of course, one of those pieces of writing advice which borders on both profundity and uselessness, but I think it's my shiny for today.
My bicycle awaits.