Well, here we are

The below is a letter from BCW president Patrick Stuart.

I’ve noticed some differences over the last few months walking our dog, Felix. Things that didn’t exist before. The traffic, for instance. In the middle of the day, it got to where I could cross 35-mph streets with impunity. I almost didn’t even need to look. My previous fear of meeting instantaneous death at the radiator grille of a primer-gray, 2005 Hyundai Accent, sporting a massive spoiler and driven by a sketchy Domino’s driver, bordered on hubris. The empty streets reminded me of the first scene of virtually every apocalypse movie (for me, I’ll pick the British “28 Days Later”). Or in another capacity, the days after 9/11. When you live on the flight path for John Glenn International, you notice when passenger jets suddenly disappear from the sky.

Other things. It was eerily quiet. Which highlighted the fact that everyone seemed to be getting their roofs replaced, or yards landscaped. The sounds of nail guns and lawnmowers was everywhere. Or maybe the lack of ambient noise just made it appear that way. There were also more people around. Not in cars, but out walking. Dog-walking. Jogging. Some wearing masks, some not, but everybody making a conscious attempt to cross the street and respect the six-foot rule when anyone approached. In my neighborhood, most people tend to take such matters seriously, and multiply it by three. “I’m supposed to give you six feet, but just to be safe, let’s make it eighteen.”

Then, just as everything slowly started to look like normalcy was on the far, far horizon, something else happened. The sounds of police helicopters appeared. We live a mile north of OSU, and just a couple miles north of outer downtown Columbus. Just when you thought a global pandemic couldn’t get any worse… fate finds a way.

Like you, everything over the last few months has affected BCW. We’ve had to cancel meetings since February, and the upcoming summer looks no different. Libraries are cautiously reopening, but we don’t know when they will allow for public events. Furthermore, we don’t know when members will feel safe gathering in groups. As a result, BCW has decided to take the summer off, rather than keeping everyone guessing if there’ll be an upcoming meeting each month.

Let’s face it – you all deserve it. Tentatively we’re now considering September as a restart for our monthly Saturday presentations. In addition, the BCW board has been active behind the scenes, looking at alternative ways to move forward. We’ve discussed the possibility of local Zoom meetings, and have announced other Zoom meetings with Sisters In Crime chapters around the country. We continue to provide links to resources, and started a short story exercise on the website for interested members. We’ve also been doing author interviews, and are providing fresh updates via email, Facebook and Twitter. We’re actively preparing for the future by keeping in touch with canceled speakers, and planning new speakers for the coming months. And we’ve sent out personal emails to each member, asking how they’re managing during these rough times. If you ever have any thoughts, ideas or comments, please feel free to contact us, anytime.

A Twitter comment I’d read recently said we’re now “living through a social studies chapter.” Indeed, these are historic times. But in order for them to become historic, we first need to get through them. I sincerely hope all of you are managing as best as possible, and your families are safe. I hope your writing continues, your skills improve and your perspectives widen. And because I can’t resist a good cliché, I thought I’d end this with another quote: a line from Margaret Atwood, the apocalyptic Canadian author of The Handmaid’s Tale, who came up with perhaps the best ten words to sum up recent events:

‘A word after a word after a word is power.’

Peace, and keep writing.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.