So far Always Outnumbered, Never Outgunned, my current novel-in-progress, has become a personal first in several ways. Item: it's one of the first projects I can think of where I started by way of changing horses, so to speak; I ditched out on a project that was already most of the way towards getting in motion to work on this one. (No regrets.) Item: the book features a character of nonbinary gender — and one that's explicitly identified as such, not someone that could be that if the reader squints and holds the book at a certain angle.
SF fans and science nerds generally ought to be familiar with the concept of time dilation, where the closer you get to the speed of light the more time slows down for you subjectively. You emerge from your space capsule after a few months to discover decades have gone by on Earth, and Nirvana and Faith No More are now on "classic rock" stations. The hell.
I'm noticing a similar time-dilation phenomenon with my novel manuscripts. No, not the inexplicable presence of Faith No More (that said, Angel Dust is a MASSIVELY underappreciated disc; everyone was just pissed because they didn't get another "Epic" and Mike Patton turned out to be sublimely weirder than anyone could have guessed). More like, the closer I get to the end of the book, the longer it seems to take to produce anything. I must be within 10,000-15,000 words of the end of Always Outnumbered, Never Outgunned, if even that much, and it feels like a single sentence takes me about three weeks of typing.