Hi, My name is Aimée Gramblin. I’m a veteran wife (18 years and counting), badass mama jama of two kids (a teen and a tween), a writer, a nature enthusiast, and a curious soul. I’m a first generation Oklahoman, in the United States. I’ve almost moved out of state three times, but got cold feet each time. We almost moved to Atlanta, Georgia; Memphis, Tennessee, and Swansea, Wales — all for school related opportunities. We ended up moving from Norman, Oklahoma to Tulsa, Oklahoma, where we’ve lived for almost fifteen years now. It’s green, slightly hilly, a bit more progressive…
I accidentally stumbled on Medium in March 2020. I took the leap and began to fly. It’s been a fantastic year and a half. I don’t make thousands of dollars. It’s usually between $80-$120. My friendships, networking, and writing/editing skills have grown exponentially.
Remington Write took the leap into writing newsletters several months ago. She sends me basically the only newsletter I truly enjoy reading.
Today, I took the plunge and created Aimée’s Writing Shenanigans! I’m posting this to get the word out and give you the opportunity to subscribe from the start.
There’ll be a learning curve and that’s okay. Anangsha Alammyan turned me on to sponsorships through SwapStack, so at some point, there will be a couple of ads at the bottom. I’ll send out writing advice and articles. I’m not even sure what else I’ll send yet. We’ll see soon enough!
Subscribe to Aimée's Writing Shenanigans Newsletter
Knaves and angels —
brave hearts descend
into our communal
Every single one of us
capability to integrate
It’s not an easy path
we have agreed to walk
Have a rest
warm your eternal
spirit and heart
Accept the healing medicine
When we face our truth
live in radical authenticity
allow emotional growing pains
Seek reprieves of comfort
rest your naked cheek
into Her gentle kiss
Allow love and guidance
We are Gaia Children
We are Her
She is us
She too needs our abundance
I grew up in Norman, Oklahoma in the years of competitive gymnastics fame and glory. The Shannon Miller and Bart Conner years. As a kid, I enjoyed going to watch men’s gymnastics in person! The glory of hard bleachers and buff men on rings. It was fantastic! I knew I’d never make it as an Olympic athlete, but it didn’t stop me from daydreaming. And, we all know what happens when children grow up and become parents. We attempt vicariously living our stomped-out dreams through our bright and naive children.
The craziest sports I played growing up in the 1980s…
Have you ever considered swapping your spouse? Just for the sex? For some spicing up of your love life?
I’ll admit I’ve entertained the notion, and for me, it feels too risky. I don’t want to jeopardize my 20+ year partnership for some different meat sticks and creamed peaches.
I’ll also admit there are ebbs and flows to the sexual sparks in a 20+ year relationship. Sometimes we feel the sexually charged sparks of the first night we met. Other times, we feel like annoying/annoyed roommates. When we’re not busy being parents, we sometimes feel like unflavored potato chips. …
Early on it started — my head buried under the covers as I snuggled with my mom and we let our farts loudly rip. I inhaled the pungent scent of our mingling gases and enjoyed the nose-stinging assaults. I’d keep my head under the covers until the hot air and trapped farts became too intense for me and I’d emerge for a gulp of air before diving back into the pleasantly acrid bombs we produced.
When our dogs have gas, I’m impressed with the variety of odors they produce and until now secretly enjoyed the old egg aroma that sometimes…
Playwright Neil Simon’s movie The Goodbye Girl holds a special place in my heart from watching the precocious 9 year old kid star, Lucy, when I was about the same age as her, living with my single mom. It turns out the movie’s backstory is as fascinating as the movie itself and offers a real-life example of writers knowing when to “kill our darlings.”
The writing advice to “kill your darlings” has been passed down to writers for centuries. …
Sometimes I feel suffocated
dryer than dirt in drought in Oklahoma summer
thirsty and forlorn
dusty and forgotten
downtrodden and angsty as a teenager who
hasn’t seen friends for weeks on end
Sometimes it feels like through my veins
run poems — words blooming lush
from well-watered gardens
attention to detail, emotion, invocation
tending my vocation daily
burning words onto the screen
into my brain — read, read, read
Tornado tsunami hurricane lightning brain
Red button panic
My poetic body withdraws, runs dry
overwhelmed by stats, comments, claps, expectations, opportunities
environmental upheaval, clutter — my home…