Eric Ross: Blog

I think of this chapter as the moment when the quiet between them begins to fill with more than just curiosity. There’s laughter, sure—but also the first hints of something unsteady beneath it. The dent in the workbench becomes a kind of proof: not everything resets, not even the smallest things.

Lira tests him here. Tests the clocks, too. The way she says, “Old as the hills,” and the way he can’t help but smile, even as he frowns. These are the small cracks that become something larger—moments that don’t fade, no matter how many times the key turns.

Chapter 4: Held in the Hinge is live. Enjoy.

—Eric

Here's my latest bit of erotic silliness, Reshelved with Benefits. This story was born from an absurd question that tickled my brain: what if the moon decided she was done glowing in the sky and applied for a desk job at a small-town library?

From that ridiculous premise comes Mona—a pale, willowy moon in borrowed skin—learning to want and to be wanted by Theo, the library’s lusty Assistant Librarian. Their chemistry is electric, the shelves themselves conspire with steamy romance novels, and the library becomes a carnival of whispered (of course) desire.

This story is unabashedly absurdist at heart: books that purr and flicker with starlight, cosmic librarians who mete out part-time jobs on Earth, and a moon girl discovering that gravity isn’t just for the planets—it’s for pleasure, too.

Enjoy!

—Eric Ross

This chapter always felt like a turning point to me. They’re no longer just testing the clock’s pull—Lira is testing him, too. The question she asks, “What’s it cost?” isn’t just about time anymore. It’s about them. About what they’re willing to risk to keep the moment alive.

Writing this, I wanted the sense of the world tightening around them—each turn of the key a small theft, a small thrill. The air thickens. The silence feels loaded. And neither of them really in knows how deep they’re already in.

Chapter 3 is live.

—Eric Ross

In this chapter of The Clockmaker’s Rewind, the clockmaker shows Lira the antique clock’s secret for the first time. The key turns. The air changes. A hammer falls, a dent stays. And Lira sees it with him—proof that time isn’t a clean slate.

She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she leans in close and says, “Show me.”

The first breath of shared wonder. The first edge of doubt. A small thing, a dent in the wood—but it’s enough to change everything.

A Dent in Time is live.

—Eric Ross

Some stories move slowly. The heat sits between the lines. You feel something shifting long before the characters admit it. The Clockmaker’s Rewind is that kind of story.

It starts with a key hidden in a ruined timepiece. The clockmaker who finds it lives alone, surrounded by clocks. When he turns the key, time rewinds—exactly, cleanly, silently. At first, he reclaims small things. Then his apprentice, Lira, discovers the secret. That’s when the loops begin to stretch. That’s when desire complicates everything. And that’s when the clocks start to slip.

What unfolds isn’t a time-travel story in the traditional sense. It’s a slow erosion. Of memory. Of restraint. Of what they thought they could keep repeating without consequence.

I wrote it in short chapters—quiet, compressed scenes meant to be read slowly. The pacing is deliberate. The sex (when it happens) is intimate, not performative. The story is less about what happens and more about what doesn’t reset. It's deliberately surreal and minimal at the same time.

I read it out loud while I was writing it. Over and over. I wanted a particular pacing so that the writing let it unfold, let the quiet work, let the tension spool.

If you like surrealism (think Peter Greenaway or David Mitchell), science fiction, and perhaps a little romance, then this may be for you.

I’ll be releasing the book as a serial—chapter by chapter. Slowly. As always, I look forward to reading your comments.

—Eric Ross