After a mostly sedentary life in which it became expert at collecting dust and bruising the toes of people who had forgotten it was there, my rowing machine passed away tonight when one of its welds gave way during an unaccustomed period of actual use. It will be missed–except by the cats, who hated its greasy metallic guts. I’m not sure why.
In other news, I’m taking a last mad dash through the copyedits for The Wolf Age. My favorite misprint so far is “misbetoon” (for “misbegotten”–don’t ask me how that happened). “Misbetoon” sounds like a cartoon in Bizzaro World, or maybe an archaic word for some practice believed to be a kindly act, but again only in Bizarro World.
Beyond that, I’ll only say that my copy-editor, the marvellous Deanna Hoak, has saved me from looking like an idiot countless times.
