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