I feel like people are thinking that My Immortal was a genuine example of Rose Cristo’s writing when she was 15 yrs old, but the official description for her memoir that just came out confirms what I have always believed, that my immortal was a joke/trollfic, although the reason why she wrote it is something no one would have ever guessed:
A heartbreaking and wryly hopeful memoir of surviving the NYC foster care system―and how one girl’s “masterpiece of literary disaster” (io9.com) connected her to a community that could help her find her lost brother.
In the early 2000s, Rose Christo was separated from her five-year-old brother and shuttled between foster homes in Brooklyn to the Bronx and back again. Desperate to be reunited with her sibling, she traveled the five boroughs, unable to find any trace of him, as New York state’s child care agencies failed to help her time and again.
Then, with the help of one beloved foster sister, Rose created an infamous piece of Harry Potter fanfiction titled My Immortal, posting it online under the pseudonym XXXbloodyrists666XXX. The “forty-four chapters and 22,000 words of hysterical, typo-laden hyperbole” (BuzzFeed.com) went viral as the most notoriously terrible fanfic ever read by the community. For years, fans, writers, and editors researched, debated, and contested the story’s origin and its mysterious author: was this grammatically-challenged rant actually written by a suicidal Goth teenager named Tara Gilesbe living in Dubai, or was this a hoax perpetrated by a group of professional authors making fun of fanfiction?
The truth is a gripping, compelling, and surprisingly funny story of how a young girl infiltrated and used the fan fiction community to search for her brother by baiting their attention with a deliberately badly written tale, creating a ten-year mystery that garnered pop culture media attention and remained unsolved―until now.
https://www.amazon.com/Under-Same-Stars-Rose-Christo/dp/1250147034
reblog if you've officially outlived the queen of england
Everyone reblog this as much as possible over the next two weeks for good luck
I’m such a lazy knitter.
“Oh man the stich count is off. *m1 randomly in middle of row* EVERYTHING IS BACK TO NORMAL!”
“UGH I was supposed to yo here on the last row. *stretches out a ladder from the previous row* Yeah that works.”
“*reading pattern* Make a swatch to determine your gauge.. lol yeah ok.”
And the two that come with it.
“Oh man this hat is gonna be way too big. Maybe I’ll make a large headed friend one day. *finishes hat* ”
“Oh man this hat is way too small. Maybe I’ll make a baby friend one day. *finishes hat*”
“This scarf is boring. I don’t want to do this anymore. This was a horrible idea. *casts off and joins two ends together* You’re a cowl now.”
“Ugh all of my size 8′s are being used and I don’t want to finish them right now. ….But what if I used a size 9 and just knit really tight. *casts on yet another project*”
“Oh fuck I added an extra repeat and now I’m gonna run out early. Maybe I’ll buy another skein. Man this yarn is more expensive than I remember.*casts off whenever fuck it lol*
“I’ve got so many more hats than I will ever wear I should open a store. *switches to knitting scarves instead* I have too many scarves I should open a store. *switches to knitting shawls instead* “
“Why is my count off? Shit there’s a serious mistake five rows back. God this looks awful. OH MY GOD ITS A DROPPED STITCH. IN A LACE SHAWL. *grabs crochet hook and randomly weaves the dropped stitch in* *counts* Well the stitch count is correct now so… “
ill never forget how funny this is
I was nominated against my father and I lost to him, my dad was not there so I had to go up and accept the award. Alicia Vikander was the lady handing out the trophy and she was standing there in horror because she thought that I had heard the wrong name and was strutting up because I thought that I had won. That was one of the most awkward experiences of my life.
Nonverbal communication is more believable than verbal communication cuz you can shut up, but you can’t shut up your face.
“Fuck it, we slay” (heavy eye bags, dehydrated, on the verge of insanity)
and the mortifying ordeal of being known Graham | transman | 30s | three crows in a trench coat
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