The Funnyman

THE FUNNYMAN- A YA novel by teen author

Sophia Whittemore  

It’s no laughing matter when you’re dealing with the Impetus… RELEASE DATE: MARCH 3RD, 2016





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Tiny Poem Tuesday

Sometimes I believe

There is love in all things 

And that love makes me happy. 

Because I won’t feel like

A child let go 

In the middle of a crisis. 

Crisis. Believing that science is the only option:

Cold lab tables, hardened benches

Stethoscopes, high fevers, cool hands 

And- always- fear. 

Since love is omnipresent. 

Not like the fairy tales but

A sense of belonging

Community- the things to combat

The hatred of hearts 

The sadness of the soul

And the muddling evils of the mind. 


how terribly cheesy-

But true.

And now here I am

Offering it also to you. ❤️

Magical Monday

Happy birthday, Disneyland. 🙂 I sat and watched the Disney tribute with my family and my dog. Suffice to say, it was a magical moment. No matter how much you try to fight against it, the waves of nostalgia will always come back to you. It’s a whole new world. And sometimes you just gotta say: who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me? But still… I’m on my way, I can go the distance. (Ok that was bad, but I had to do it.) 
Anyways, here’s a writing tidbit for the day: be like a Disney hero. As a writer, many obstacles will be thrown at you. Don’t just fight your dragons, punch them in the face (unless it’s a friendly dragon). But never ever give up. 
-Sophia. ❤️

Friday Free Write 


LITTLE, SINGING BLACKBIRD – by Sophia Whittemore

There were birds between the stalks of corn. The wind wailed like a broken woman, howling her melancholy out for the whole world to hear. I wore a short coat that cut off at the thigh and had an umbrella swinging loosely from the belt at my hip. I’d borrowed the coat from my sister who had died from fever shortly after returning home from her faraway boarding school. Mother cancelled my schooling after that, insisting I be taught solely at home by private, matronly tutors. My hair got caught in the buttons of my sister’s coat, and the collar buttoned up too snugly. It felt as though someone was choking me, watching for my every move as my mother did. She said the next time I would roam free would be after I had married, in order to avoid a scandal. She would be upset if she knew. My lip curled at that, images of fatty cheeks in ruby-tinted rage. Yes, she would be very, very upset. 
So I sat at the edge of the moors, watching the birds as they flew, imagining that I flew among them. Women had been hung for less, as witches who danced round trees and talked to animals. I didn’t believe in any such sorcery. I was my own woman, not at the mercy of the craft of a child’s fancy. I hadn’t been close enough to a church to see if holy water burned. I hadn’t been in one since my father’s funeral as a little girl. I hated buildings like my home and my parish. The institutions were stifling, just as my mother stifled too. No, I wanted the life of a bird. I wanted wanton immorality and abandon. I wanted life. I wanted glee. 

What’s that? Yes, my mother is calling me. 

I turn around. 

I must obey.  

Word Challenge Wednesday


Using all five senses- sight sound taste touch smell-describe your happy place. 


I felt the sand, warm, pressing against my feet with a gentle kiss. The scent of salt and that deep, murky ocean was there, strains of seaweed beneath mountains of water gone stale. Somewhere, a child was laughing as he plunged headfirst into the water while a lonely seagull circled overhead, weaving its body through the crystalline sky. And still, I could taste summer on my lips, as heady as a citrus and as long-lasting as dark, red wine. The day was gold.