I am looking at myself and saying, WTF?
It's been a truism of mine for a while, for some very good reasons, that my writing needs to slow down. I've worked on reducing my drafting speed and focusing more on the line level prose as well as the deep structure, to the degree that I can consciously control those on first draft.
This book is not behaving that way. And though it's impossible to tell with any validity from my place in the middle of the process, neither the prose quality nor the deep structure is suffering.
The best way I can think to explain it is to say this book really, really wants to get out. I don't feel like I'm rushing it. It's just moving fast. That is almost certainly in part due to the third book effect I've mentioned before. Likewise, I clearly have a lot of pent-up creativity in this, my post-chemo world. But still, I feel like I meant to turn on a hot plate and got a flaming gas jet instead.
In fact, this state of flow is fairly similar to what happens when I'm near the end of a book. Often I'll put on some pretty freakish bursts of speed and productivity as everything wraps on my head and needs to come tumbling out onto the page.
Today's a very busy day, then it's SteamCon weekend, so I'll be quite surprised if I manage to be more than minimally productive again before next Monday. Still, this is quite a ride. And one I decidedly do not understand.