I know “Fictionalized Account of her life” is an oxymoron but so is the idea of Britney Spears writing a book, which isn’t even a factor because celebrities don’t write books (unless their name happens to be Craig Ferguson or Tina Fey).
A new Britney Spears novel that will “most likely” be a work of fiction that incorporates “elements of her real life” will fit comfortably on your shelf next to Paris Hilton’s Confessions of an Heiress, Lauren Conrad’s L.A. Candy, Gorilla Beach by Snooki and Joey Buttafuoco’s Closure.
The best we can hope for from Spears’ not-yet-confirmed deal with Harper Collins is a whitewashed explanation for her behavior from 2004 to now besides that she has Michael Jackson “I-never-grew-up” disease.
Something like: “And then Briterella’s shoes fell off and the only place that was open was the royal gas station, which happened to have a half-off sale on Slim Jims and Cheetos. Also, the fairy godmother was drunk on pumpkin rum and accidentally gave her a buzzcut.”
I’m offering myself up as a ghostwriter. YOU’RE WELCOME.