I know it’s day 19 of NaNoWriMo, but I finally started writing a novel. Over the last few weeks of my new medication, I’ve felt a definite change in my brain. I’ve felt much more capable, which might not be the first word you think of when you think of recovering from depression. You might think “happy” or “better.”

But the reason I know something is different is I just do the dishes when I think about doing them. I get out of bed when I wake up. Sometime in the last month, doing stuff got a little bit easier.

So of course I jump straight into writing a novel, right? But it’s middle grade, so I’m aiming for 40k words, not the suggested 50k of NaNo. And my deadline is the end of the year, not the end of the month.

All I’ve ever wanted is to write books. I spent most of my twenties trying and failing, over and over. I didn’t know how to be a writer if I couldn’t write novels.

In my thirties, I figured out other ways to write, and I found a bit of peace with the novel. But the idea is still there in my brain. And now that my brain is working better than it has in, perhaps, my whole life, I want to try again. I want to write a novel. I want to see my book on a shelf. I want to prove that I can do this.