It is finally the time to share the cover of A Time to Rise! For any who do not know A Time to Rise is the third and last book in the Out of Time Series by Nadine Brandes. It is set to be released on the 14th of October 2016 in America which makes it the 15th here in Australia.

But to the point, you want to see the cover. Actually you probably scrolled down and saw it before coming back to read anything.

That is what I do. 

So with no more delay I present to you 

*insert sound of dramatic music*

*insert imaginary drum roll*

*insert a great gust of wind*

the cover 

of 

A Time to Rise!

Doesn't it look so good! 

You can find it here at Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27230665-a-time-to-rise

Now follows the synopsis which contains spoilers for the previous books so consider yourself warned.

What more can you sacrifice than your life?

Parvin Blackwater is dead.

At least…that’s what the Council—and the world—thinks. But her sacrifice tore down part of the Wall long enough to stir up hope and rebellion in the people. Now she will rise again. Strong, free, and fearless.

Parvin and Solomon must uncover the mysterious clues that Jude left behind in order to destroy the projected Wall once and for all. Meanwhile, the Council schemes to new levels of technology in its attempts to keep the people contained. Can a one-handed Radical and a scarred ex-Enforcer really bring shalom to the world?

So if you have not read the previous books you should forget that you just read that synopsis, and read the other two books now, so you are ready for A Time to Rise when it comes out. The three of them look so good together, I can't wait for them to all sit in a row on my shelf. 

Now I bombard you with links 

You can find A Time to Die all these places:

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Book Depository

Christian Book Distributors

Goodreads 

As for A Time to Speak, look here for it:

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Book Depository

Goodreads 

And because if you don't know what an amazing person Nadine is you are really missing out. She here are some links to the places she usually resides on the internet:

Website: http://nadinebrandes.com

Facebook: http://facebook.com/NadineBrandesAuthor

Instagram: http://instagram.com/NadineBrandes

Twitter: http://twitter.com/NadineBrandes 

And there is also a giveaway of cuteness. A whole set of the tiny bookmark characters! So enter into that before you go. 

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Have you read any of Nadine's books?

Do you like dystopian fiction?

Close to where we live there is a Traveling Stock Reserve, but it is not used for traveling stock, but is agisted. Still anyone is free to walk and play in there. I have always liked going out into the paddock and exploring or building houses with logs, branches and sticks. When we were little we would go collecting what I called 'moon stone' for I had never seen rocks like that anywhere, they were often a creamy colour, and they had sharp edges with smooth sides. I would carry them back home and put them in my collection. I have no idea what happened to that collection, I can only guess it got chucked in the bin with a lot of other junk, which I probably called precious things, but Mum knew better, except for the rocks. 

Here is another post of photos for those who wanted to see more photos of the pocket watch. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed taking them.

I just wanted to say one thing today, ask one question.


Time 

is a 

Precious Gift

How are you going to use it?

A few days after taking all those photos of books, glasses and keys, (can be found in previous post) I was able to borrow an old pocket watch from a friend. Naturally that entitled another photo shoot of my books and the watch and pieces of the insides, pieces of time....

I drove past a house the other day and it inspired me to write, this;

Once this was not a sad little house, I am sure. Once a man, or maybe more, laboured on its foundations. Each wooden slat, cut and placed by loving hands. With joy and laughter, looking forward to a brighter future, this house rose up from the steep hill. Finally the wife arrived, the furniture, and the corrugated iron for the roof. It rumbled up on a slow moving wagon, drawn by a team of oxen, maybe. Maybe they had trudged the tree boarded track up the mountains for days, weeks.

Once, maybe once, the young wife ran up and into her husbands arms,  so glad that they were together again. So glad of the beautiful house, a house of her own, with wooden boards to sweep the dust from. Together they would make this their home, possibly.

As the rain fell, it drummed down on the roof, horrendously noisy, but they sat together, knowing that the house was solid built. It would not blow away, or collapse like a tent of canvas. Maybe soon after that children could have come.

Once they could have leaped off the bottom step and run down the slope, crossing over the fallen tree that bridged the creek, and jumped into their fathers arms as he arrived home. Did he come from taking their cattle to market? Or selling the furs of the animals he trapped? Or from the homestead where The Boss lived? 

Other times the children could have run with buckets down to the bubbling mountain stream and tried to catch the little mosquito fish, that darted through the clear water. Little trousers, or skirts, hoisted high. Maybe muddy little feet ran back up the hill to show Mother their prizes. Or maybe they fished out the fat black tadpoles, and kept them in a jar, watching as they grew legs, squiggly tails shrank and then disappeared. 

Once upon a time, long ago, many things could have happened in and around that happy little house. House of promises, hopes and dreams, once. Now though, it sits a weathered grey. On a hillside, far from anywhere, a dull house rots, silent except for the clatter, bang, and scratch of the rusted iron roofing, that has now come loose. Each gust of wind, pulls at the house, and it succumbs, sinking away, slowly returning to dust, and memories.

What memories it must hold though, if only I could hear it speak. If only the creaks, could, be interpreted, or the language of old things found out. But the people who lived there once, have gone, grown old and died. Maybe the children still live on somewhere, I wonder have they forgotten, the once happy little house on a hill. Or are they no longer, here to be able to remember, have they too passed away. I do not know, but I wonder, what does that sad little house remember?

11th October 1943 A British spy plane crashes in Nazi-occupied France. Its pilot and passenger are best friends. One of the girls has a shot at survival. The other has lost the game before it's barely begun.

Most mornings and many afternoons this month and the end of last, a flock of screeching birds fly over our house and land in one of the tall gum trees next to it. I counted over twenty birds most days. Bright colours flashing they settle into the branches of a gum and almost disappear, except that they screech to one another continually and when they move there is a flash of vibrant colour before they meld back in to the green leaves and blue sky. Then there is the click, click, click of their beaks as they snip at the pink or pale yellow gum blossoms. 

If you haven't read part 1 then do so here. If you have then here is part 2 that you have not been waiting all that long for, but hopefully part one was good enough that you really wanted to know what happens next.

To refresh your memory; Jill had just been chucked off the carousel and "One drop of salty water trickled slowly down her face followed by others."

From where Col sat he had a good view of the whole event. For a moment he looked at his sister then back to the beautiful white beast. His little hands twisted around the pole that held up his steed and made it fly. He bit his lip then swung his leg over the unicorn and slid down. Giving it one last pat he wound his way between the other elegant creatures towards his sister, just as the music began again.

They sat together; Col wound his fingers around Jill’s. Together they listened to the music and watched the unicorns dance around again, whirling faster and faster. Clothes and tassels flapped, children screamed, some in joy others with fright at the speed, and again the mysterious beast appeared just for a moment galloping on the spot.

Children tumbled off and more ran to get places. Col and Jill went back to their parents. Jill whispered, “Somehow it would not be the same, maybe later we can ride it.” A strange sadness filled the hearts and minds of the two youngsters, it may be thought to have come from the fact that they were taken from their ride, that is not so, it came from something much deeper, they themselves had no idea. Jill could not dispel the look in the unicorn’s blue eyes from her mind.

Stalls were set up everywhere, banners rippled out from poles and trees. The glow of illumstones became more noticeable. The family walked into a nearby stall. The children forgot their sorrow upon seeing the beautiful trinkets. Jill at once moved over to look at an unusual object which, upon inspection, turned out to be a miniature carousel, with only four unicorns prancing around it. They were encased in a hard substance. Jill lifted it carefully, as she moved it, silver and gold sparkles floated around the animals, her mouth parted in wonder. “So beautiful,” she whispered.

A small round man, the stall keeper, hurried over and snatched the carousel from her hands. “That, my dear, is not for sale. That, little one is real gold and silver it is made from, and the stone casing, well, no one except a great lord,” The man gestured vaguely northwards and flung his arms wide.

A magnificent crash made everyone cringe; Jill jumped back as fragments of the tiny carousel hit her. The man’s dark face grew darker. He glared at his hand which still held the gold and silver base, and then back towards a tent pole behind him. His mouth opened and shut a few times, Jill backed further, and her foot kicked something as she ducked behind Father. Stooping she picked the small object up. At the same moment Col gazed in astonishment at the piece of carousel that had literally flown across the room into his hands. A tiny white figure of a unicorn decked with gold and silver lay shining on his palm.

Mother and father never noticed the little figures in their son’s and daughter’s hands as they pushed them out of the stall before them. They all wandered around the fair looking upon many wonders and great sights, but soon it grew very late and they went to an inn beside where the fair sprouted. The distance to their own house was not great but dark cloaked men roamed the roads at night.

Col and Jill looked out the window; they could both just glimpse the carousel. Then they slipped off their shoes and snuggled next to each other, listening to their parents breathing and the minstrels at the fair. A model unicorn lay with fingers curled around it; the other poked its head out of a pocket in Col’s shirt. Many parts of the fair grew silent and were packed away, ready to travel off the next day. All the inns and drink-houses in the town overflowed. Of the minstrels by the carousel only the harpist played, softly, ever so softly. The music wound it way into the night, calling.

The greater moon rose up, closely followed by the second. Silver light spilled through the open window and splashed down onto the children’s bed. Jill sat upright as something prickled at her hand, light shone from between her fingers. She nudged Col, and pressed a finger to her lips. The two tiny unicorns glittered in the moonlight, glowing of themselves.

Four little feet pattered across the floor and slipped into shoes then out the door. Two faces peered into a lighted room then backed away and padded out a different, smaller door, out onto cobbles that reflected back the moonlight. Not a word passed between the children as they crept through the trunks of great trees towards the fair.

One illumstone shone white into the shadows. The minstrel sat near it and another lady moved noiselessly towards the carousel. The minstrel jumped as Col stepped on something, her music, though, did not falter. Jill and Col followed the other lady onto the carousel. A white light reflected off the young lady’s silver dress, she moved among the carousel poles running her hand up each creature’s horn.

Turning, she gazed a moment at the children. Jill stepped up next to her, “They are so sad. Can we help?” she whispered. The lady’s eyes sparkled.

Keeping her voice low the lady replied, “Yes, help me get their halters off.” Her eyes went to Col’s pocket.

I mowed the lawn yesterday and didn't destroy much. I cut up grass... a lot of grass. I also managed to cut up a few sticks and an already broken, plastic, sandpit toy into smaller pieces. I left the transpiration pit for last because when my sisters last mowed it the mower kept dying because of the long thick grass there. 

I took the mower (Note: ride on mower. I would really not like having to do all that grass with a push mower) through the grass slowly and only had a little more to do when I went past the trampoline. The trampoline; is rather old.... well just a bit younger than me... so not all that old, but for a trampoline it is old. I think if someone jumped on me as much as it has been jumped on I would be in a lot worse condition that the trampoline is. Well I'm glad I'm not a trampoline.

Anyway the mats that stops one from falling onto/through the springs, like to fall off. Actually they are normally off, so if one does happen to fall they do not do much good, since they are not always even near the trampoline. This particular one was though.. And I went to close with it. Only just to close but the blades caught the corner of one of the mat things and sucked it right under the mower. Which resulted in rather a mess.... foam and bits of blue canvas stuff everywhere. 

I also had to turn the cutters off quickly. About half of the blue canvas stuff had got all twisted around one of them. Then I turned everything off and attempted to untangle it. I failed. So I got my sister Jane (who has smaller hands) to try. It failed. Then she had the brilliant idea of using a knife to cut the canvas off. It worked. 

I went and finished the mowing. The lawn now looks nice and much the better for it. I don't think I could say the same for the trampoline mat though....

I didn't know where my watch had got to yet again. "Jane what time is it?" Jane looks at the clock on the wall. "About six forty." Actually the clock had stopped then and the real time would have been a bit later. We only realized that at about seven fifty when we looked at the clock again and... "What? It can't be only that  time!" It wasn't. Jane got the clock down from the wall, set it to the right time and it started working again. We didn’t have to change the battery or anything. The clock still told the right time later, so all seemed ok. But of course I wouldn’t have done a post about something that boring.  What happened next made it much more interesting. A loud “Crash” came from the other room, glass splintered and spun across the floor.  (That is rather interesting).

 I ran into the other room.... well if you can call three fast steps running, and I actually only poked my head around the door, as the floor had pieces of sparkling glass all over it. The clock had stopped, well it still ticked, Note: ticking clocks are evil. It had stopped between the wall and the side board. 

Mummy and I swept all the glass dust into a pile and got rid of it. By glass dust I mean glass dust, that is how small a lot of the pieces were. But not quite all of it went in the bin, yet. I realized my luck in finding such an interesting photo subject.

I was supposed to put it all in the bin when I had finished taking photos but well........ The rest of the glass came out so easily.  The clock is now back on the wall, without any glass. 

And now for something else that has no relation to the above, except that it actually was doing what I wanted at the time of the incident above mentioned. 

Hmm where do I start?
Well the computer I use for everything (we have two and now two laptops as well, one of which is daddy’s work computer) has been playing up and going slower and slower. At least it hasn’t been so noisy since I vacuumed the dust out of it the other day.... 

No I shall start again.

It has not been hot today which is so different to yesterday. ( Ok that doesn’t even appear to be about computers, but it shall lead to them, be patient.) Yesterday there were wind speeds of sixty to eighty km/ph. It got rather hot. I had thought the wind was nice as it kept the air moving, but after church we got home and the computers had switched themselves off. We turned the air con on. We had a grey out. We turned the air con again. We had another grey out.... we didn’t turn the air con back on..... Computers stayed off.... eventually we stopped having grey outs and turned the air con and later computers back on. Twas late by that time. Then came the lightning..........

The clock incident happened this morning but I have been doing school work. Also the computer keeps crashing because some backup things are corrupted or something like that. Or the backup things are corrupted because the computer is dying anyway, or they aren’t related. I have had to restart the computer three times! And it takes ages to reconnect to the other computer (on which all our files are stored) and to the Internet   Just to make me happy the other computer just decided it would play up too.....well soon I may have to say R.I.P to my Rather Irritating PC. 
Tis a lesson in patience or tolerance..... but of course, “I hate waiting”. Actually that is the best thing about the computer playing up.... I get to say, “I hate waiting” which I really like saying!

No I haven’t been smashing cups, but in the last two months my parents and Alice have managed to smash at least five cups! The latest of these I found this morning while unstacking the dishwasher. The bottom of one cup (my cup) had completely broken off and sat at the bottom of the dishwasher next to what had been the top of the glass. Last night Alice had dropped something in the dishwasher and I had run over and we tried to find something broken but failed, I was disappointed. Of course I needn’t have been because evidence now shows that something did break. 

The other cup that Alice smashed a few weeks ago was her own, and full of water at that time. Glass flew across the kitchen, quite a bit of water got into two of the draws and the rest went all over Alice. This happened while Mummy was out, all sorts of interesting things happen then. Like when Jane was stacking the dishwasher and she slid a saucepan lid along the bench then picked it up as it got past the edge. That would have been fine except that there were four plates underneath it.........

Mummy smashed one of her own and a small piece of my previous cup. Note: we all have different cups so as not to get them confused. Daddy tipped his over, then in trying to stop it falling he slammed it into the bench harder. Glass and water flew everywhere, including into the one of my brothers laps. My sisters and I heard that commotion from our room and came to the rescue with towels and dustpans.

Smashed things can be really quite interesting. Sadly my Magic dust cant fix them I tried but It doesn't seem to work for things like this .