There’s this movie scene when the Ghostbusters must keep their minds utterly blank to avoid total disaster. Dan Ackroyd’s character fails. Ba-doom … ba-doom … ba-doom. Massive footsteps proceed the creature. Ba-doom … ba-doom … ba-doom. Here comes … what? I won’t spoil it, but believe me it’s coming, looming over, fraught with impending terror. Pretty much out of the clear blue.

Ba-doom … ba-doom … ba-doom. I haven’t seen Ghostbusters in years, but that scene whirled through the air the moment I made a decision this morning, one that came out of the clear blue. It always comes that way.

Ba-doom … ba-doom … ba-doom. The sign at the elementary school announced school would start next Tuesday. Summer fun’s over. It’s time. Time to start the next book.

Ba-doom … ba-doom … ba-doom. Even now, even still, that decision looms over, fraught with impending terror, but also with a fighting surge and a welling excitement. I’m ready to face the scary, blank pages.