Camera Obscura Number 6 Takes Form

March 27th, 2013


With the photography competition deadline looming April 1, I’ll offer a peek at some of the stories slated to appear in the next issue starting with Sarah Scoles’ “When the World is Covered,” which begins:

“Nothing, except knowing someone who dies, makes you think about dying more than falling in love. When they are five minutes late, you are sure that they’ve crashed their car and been attacked by hordes of giant spiders. When they go out on a walk, you are sure that they will fall victim to armed robbery, or be taken captive by an evangelical cult. The way you want them around so much makes you so afraid that they are going to die that you become fairly sure that they are constantly about to die. That’s why I say, “Don’t die,” when Laura goes out after the flood to buy more nonperishables.

“I won’t,” she says, pushing her wallet into her back pocket. “I’m not really a die-er.”

“I know,” I say. “Thank you for that.”

Sarah Scoles is an associate editor at Astronomy magazine. She enjoys noticing details, stealing acquaintances’ anecdotes, running really far on woodland trails, talking to her dog, reading everything that’s fit to be read, and contemplating the universe’s expansion. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in the Alaska Quarterly Review, LIT, Whiskey Island, Upstreet, DIAGRAM, Eastown Fiction, LIT, Fringe, and Booth.

This issue will also include Ricardo Nuila’s “Tunk.”

“Or the guy who, when I asked if there was a history of head trauma, said, “Couple of barstools. Not really.”

Boston was his name. We rounded on him first each morning.

What Boston wanted was to teach me how to play Tunk. Tunk’s something they play on the streets. It’s an easy rummy.

The deal was, when he got out of here, we’d find a game beneath one of the overpasses. I’d pay in all well-dressed, using big words nobody understood—get them to think I just gave money away—then clean up: my book smarts, his street smarts kind of thing. Split everything down the middle. Our plan became so intricate, I forgot about the liver study.

Ricardo Nuila is an assistant professor at Baylor College of Medicine in Houston, Texas. He teaches internal medicine and medical humanities and works as a hospitalist. His stories have appeared in McSweeney’s, Ninth Letter, The Indiana Review, and Best American Short Stories, and his essays have appeared in The New England Journal of Medicine.

And Jacqueline Kolosov’s “Lessons from the Master”

“You would not have known me a year ago. A year ago I had a distinguished husband and a satisfying part-time job teaching painting and figure drawing at the university where he had tenure. A year ago I still awoke in the house where we had raised our daughter. Every morning from May until late September, I’d open the bedroom window onto the garden and look out at what I had created. In the shade were the well-established hostas, ferns, and columbine. The fence enclosing the garden was trellised with the decades’ old dowager roses—Bourbon, Damask, Floribunda, Sempervirens—I had admired since first visiting the Borghese Gardens during the early years of my marriage.

Jacqueline Kolosov’s creative prose and poetry have recently appeared in Cimarron Review,, and Literature & Belief.. An essay from her collection-in-progress, Motherhood and the Places Between, won Bellevue Literary Review’s 2012 nonfiction award. Her third poetry collection, Memory of Blue, is forthcoming from Salmon Poetry in May 2013.

More updates soon…

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