Welcome to Swamp Gossip

You’ve stumbled into Forest Glen Condominiums.
Please mind the porches with teeth and the time loops in the rose garden. They’re having a moment.

Swamp Gossip is a folklore-fueled newsletter of cryptid sightings, fungal prophecies, magical HOA drama, and myth-laced mischief—compiled from the increasingly chaotic notes, clippings, and semi-telepathic transmissions of Miss Bogbean, the swamp’s unofficial gossip laureate.

I’m Aubrie—an author and a scholar of Anthropology, Classics, and History at CU Boulder. Somehow, I’ve become the appointed documentarian of Forest Glen. Miss Bogbean leaves her observations on damp paper scraps, in jars of moss, or encoded in casserole instructions. I do my best to organize, translate, and occasionally fact-check her musings.

This little corner of the internet is where I get to mix folklore with fiction, ritual with nonsense, and academic research with whatever Miss Bogbean just slid under my door in a muddy envelope.

Part folklore experiment, part haunted neighborhood watch report, part cryptid-stained notebook—I bring the scholarly lens; she brings the spores. Together, we’re piecing together something stranger (and maybe truer) than either of us could manage alone.

And hey, if something weird grows out of it... just water it and take notes.


What to Expect Here:

  • Monthly short stories set in a suburban nightmare of witches, demons, haunted appliances, and unfiled paperwork

  • Gossip columns full of minor magical mishaps and major drama

  • Cryptid Classifieds featuring cursed ads, personals, and suspiciously affordable swamp real estate

  • Special Friday the 13th issues that are extra cursed (you’ve been warned)

We publish on the 13th of every month, with the occasional extra drop when the moon feels... dramatic.


Who Reads This?

Folklorists with dirt under their nails.
Anthropology majors who keep a jar of bones on their desk.
Queer history buffs who talk to crows.
Writers mapping haunted towns.
Moms who hex with intention.
Weird little dudes who think raccoons are familiars.
And anyone who’s ever felt more seen by a mushroom than by their extended family.


What Makes Swamp Gossip Different?

This isn’t just a newsletter—it’s a portal.

Swamp Gossip is for readers who live at the threshold—between the real and the imagined, the academic and the arcane. It’s where folklore meets fiction, and the strange little stories you half-remember from childhood come back with teeth.

Part short story series, part found-document archive, part haunted bulletin board at the edge of town—you’ll find HOA minutes you should probably take seriously, magical real estate listings you’d be wise to avoid, and dispatches from a neighborhood where the line between myth and mundane is paper-thin—and occasionally written in glitter pen.


Why Go Paid?

Paid subscriptions are like secret clubhouse keys.
They unlock the full monthly newsletter, bonus posts, the complete archive, and printable weirdness like:

  • Cryptid ID cards

  • Honorary swamp resident certificates

  • (Soon...) ritual recipes, audio lore drops, and maybe even a voicemail from Miss Bogbean herself

Supporting the newsletter helps me grow this bizarre little universe and spend more time inside it—mucking about in story, magic, and mushroom gossip.


Thanks for wandering into the bog.
Aubrie (and occasionally Miss Bogbean, when she commandeers the typewriter)

This is not a safe place for boring people. It is a slightly damp, mildly cursed, and deeply magical newsletter full of secrets and spite. You are very welcome here.

Miss Bogbean’s Swamp Gossip is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

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Miss Bogbean’s Swamp Gossip is a Swampstack about magical neighborhood drama, cryptid-infested cul-de-sacs, and the strange, soggy lives of swamp residents just trying to keep it weird.

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Tales of magic, monsters, gossip, and passive-aggressive tea kettles. Swamp Gossip is your monthly dispatch from a magical neighborhood where raccoons unionize and the lemon bars occasionally levitate.