Ongoing Onslaught

This Is Inactive

2007-04-17T11:28:00.000-07:00

Obviously this is inactive. I didn't get the response that I had expected so I stopped posting prompts. I would delete this blog but some people might not have saved their entries anywhere.

Any ideas?

2006-09-25T00:44:00.000-07:00

I likely won't be eating any Easy Mac for a while so I thought I would ask all the vegetarians who read this (assuming anyone still does) what I should eat while over in potato land. Any ideas?

A balanced diet

2006-09-11T01:07:00.000-07:00

My family threw me a going away party today. There were hugs, tears and a prayer…my family prays a lot. Everyone stood in a circle around me and prayed aloud, and it was really pretty moving. Although I don’t have the best relationship with some members of my family, at the end of the day, they’re still my family and we love each other very much. My favorite prayers were:

Grandma: Lord, please keep Thomas warm and safe. And make sure he eats his vegetables.

Uncle Ed: Lord, please let Thomas do your work and eat vegetables.

Aunt Laurene: Jesus, please protect Thomas and make him eat lots of vegetables.

Obviously, there’s a common concern! I’m really going to miss them and I don't think I realized just how much until today.

Yes, yes you can!

2006-09-03T00:43:00.000-07:00

Since I'm still the only one using this, here's another fun story for whoever is still reading. The following is an excerpt from a conversation I had tonight with my genius friend Alletta who’s leaving for Scotland in a week on a Marshal Scholarship with her husband, a really cool, nice guy named Ryan:

Me: There’s enough third-wave feminist in me to not object to all pornography on face. I think it’s just as important that women have control over their sexuality as it is they avoid exploitation. The two go hand in hand, I think.

Alletta: *licks fingers, nods slowly*

Me: I can’t tell if you’re just gearing up to destroy my argument or licking jello shots off your fingers.

Alletta: I can’t do both?

I just saw a tumbleweed roll by on here

2006-08-27T23:46:00.000-07:00

Wow, this place is pretty dead. Here's a funny story!

Yesterday I was at a Cake concert in Salem (at which I ran into Mike Owens) and it was hot as hell so I went to get some Gatorade in between bands. While standing in line, this woman who was really drunk and I had the following conversation:

Wacky drunk woman: I really like your shirt, that’s hilarious!

Me: Thanks, I’m glad you like i—

WDW: I’ll buy it from you.

Me: Seriously? No, I’m not—

WDW: I’ll give you 30 bucks for it right now, man! Don’t be a dick! Just give me your shirt.

Me: Oh, well…I need to wear it and all, otherwise I would.

WDW: I fucking hate you.

Me: Listen, I’m doing you a favor! You can get it for like twenty bucks online.

WDW: I’m just kidding, I love you!

*hugs me and gives me a five second kiss on the cheek that gets really awkward*

Me: OK! Thanks! I’m going to buy some Gatorade now!

T-Mac #3

2006-08-09T13:47:00.000-07:00

Story starters! I often find that my writing is pretty good for the first few sentences and then the wheels come off the wagon and whatever I’m working on spirals into mediocrity after that. So, rather than writing one response to this prompt, I’m going to write a few of them and just eject before they start to suck...hopefully.

Attempt #1:

Mom always warned me that if I kept making that face, it would stay that way. Well, she was right. Much like “don’t feed the bears” and “don’t mix beer and hard alcohol,” that little lesson flew right over my head and now I’m stuck with a face that resembles a creature off of The X-Files. I would be lying if I said having a mouth the width of a Frisbee didn’t have some advantages. For one, I don’t have to cut up my steak at all, and for another, I’m going to be the subject of a very special Nip/Tuck next season. So I’ve got that going for me.

Attempt #2:

When I tell people that my sister and I are home schooled, most people roll their eyes and assume that we’re freakishly awkward, hyper religious kids who build houses out of popsicle sticks for 14 hours a day while learning about why the world is flat and how Rush Limbaugh is the second coming of Jesus. Really though, we’re just regular kids. We have friends and sleep-overs and own a really awesome easy bake oven. I do gymnastics and my sister competes in science fairs. Our days are fun because we love each other, and that’s what I think of when I look at this picture.

Attempt #3:

My sister and I were told that we needed a talent for the World’s Most Beautiful Child Pageant at Scottsdale Mall and this was the best we could do. Honestly, we’re just not that talented and that might just hold us back in the world of beauty pageants. Oh well. At least we’ll be the most entertaining contestants...unless someone knows how to juggle. Stupid jugglers.

TKO #3

2006-08-07T01:59:00.000-07:00

TKO Question #3

Be inspired by this photograph. Write.

**

Post due Sunday.

I am gonna keep posting prompts for T-Mac and Tandy Hard at least :) Is anybody else planning on playing too? It's not worth podcasting when there are not votes because there are no posts.

Tandy Hard #2

2006-08-06T20:26:00.000-07:00

The deep smell of ebony wood, the taste of the fibrous reed-slightly bitter. These were the first sensations of a day that seemed would never come. Amber stones of rosin scattered, half hidden in their cases, were jewels that would prime the bows for their magic motion. The smells of various species of wood intermingled with the reflection of their curvy shapes in the funneled horns of brass. Silence as the director approached the podium. And then the down stroke, and the music of the orchestra.

When I was a little girl, I danced to Fantasia. You know the one-where Mickey becomes this magician who enchants brooms to do his work? I would dance around my grandparents living room, moving to the music, oblivious to the pictures on the tube. At that point I figured a wanted to make those sounds. I wanted to be a musician. I started learning clarinet.

I didn’t get very far. There were a bajillion clarinets, and most of them were better than me. So I stayed in the middle of the pack skill wise. But in high school, (partly because of my mediocrity), I was assigned a new instrument, the bassoon. They needed a new player since a senior had graduated. The incentive was that if you were first or second chair, (the top two players of that instrument) you would get to play in the orchestra on Fridays.

The orchestra had played in Carnegie Hall the year before and they were good. Damn good. Their director was on of those few teachers that can inspire and push their students to achieve the best of their ability. Being in the orchestra would mean being a part of something wonderful, an entity of 35 people, who together made a unified, amazing and moving statement with their sound. A sound that had taught me to dance as a child.

The first step was memorizing the chromatic scales, then the major, the minor. My fingers were shorter than most other bassoonists, and the combined repetitive motion and the stretch would make my hands constantly ache until they were used to it. Holding the double reed was a challenge as well. There was no mouth piece to provide structural support so only my lips would have to provide the vibration needed to make the sound. (I became a really good kisser after playing for a while). And there was practice everyday, fighting an old, out of tune instrument, forcing it by shear will power to make the notes on the page.

But finally, I had an audition with the director. And I nailed it. Completely! Bam! And I was in. I was in the first practice, I and really cried. Moved that I was finally part of the sound.

T-Mac # 2

2006-07-31T14:18:00.000-07:00

This is as much a story about an entire season as it is about one round. When I took the Assistant Director of Forensics job at Pacific University, I was pretty sure I knew what I was getting in to. In the northwest, Pacific is known for having really solid individual events and very streaky debaters. However, a year ago, as I was getting to know the debaters, I knew we had a lot of work ahead of us—more than I had anticipated.

With few exceptions, the debaters were really young. Half of them were freshman and the other half were sophomores--bitter, resentful sophomores. It’s been my experience that when someone loses for a long time, they tend to shift the blame away from themselves whenever possible, and that’s what my more experienced students were doing. Tiffanie and Jared, the two returning students, blamed evil speed, topicality and K’s for their many losses, claiming that if people debated the way parli was really intended, that they would do much better. But, like most people who make those arguments, they weren’t really mad at the structure of debate or the direction it was going, but just at the fact that they were losing and didn’t know how to fix it.

So, we started with the basics. I taught them the structure to arguments, the difference between offense and defense, how to answer a K, how to handle speed, anything and everything I knew they needed to know to do well. Still, it was slow going. We were working without a net—the season was in full swing, so in spite of my weekly meetings with each team, I often only discovered something needed improvement until their ballots told me so. At the first tournament, our teams were a lucky 3-3, 2-4 and 1-5, a trend that would continue for the rest of the semester.

Over winter break, although no one said it out loud, everyone was wondering the same thing—if we all wouldn’t be better off scrapping parli altogether and just focusing on individual events. Two of the six debaters had already done that, and the other four were probably considering if it wouldn’t be a better use of their time and resources to forget about debate and just cut more extemp articles every week. In the end, though, none of us were willing to walk away from debate—we loved it too much, and besides, there were small signs of progress that gave our teams hope.

As the spring term began, we had a team meeting and decided that instead of quitting, that we would try even harder to improve. I made them flashcards with the structure to positions, we had two weekly meetings and practiced in each, they researched cases and talked about the news together, and slowly, they started to get better. Jared and Tyler were an encouraging 3-3 at Point Loma and Willamette, the toughest tournaments we had been to all year, and when they went 5-1 at Oregon State, I knew they were peaking at the right time. Josh and Kyle were coming along, too. Going in to NPDA, I was pretty sure we wouldn’t embarrass ourselves, which was a big step up from where we were only a few months before.

After seven rounds, Josh and Kyle were 3-4 and out of the tournament, Jared and Tyler were 4-3 and had a chance to break, and I was going absolutely crazy. Coaching is much more nerve racking that debating for me, only because I ultimately have zero control over what happens in the round, and no matter how badly I want to help my kids, I’m ultimately powerless—it’s up to them.

When the topic came out, I got my shit together long enough to green light Josh and Kyle’s irony position. They just wanted to have fun, so I figured that letting them run a hilarious irony K was the least I could do for all their hard work. The rest of prep was as blur—walking to the round I was going to judge, I kept thinking of really good arguments that we should have prepped answers for, and Jared and Tyler had their phones off so I couldn’t warn them. By the time I had turned in my ballot, I was convinced they had lost.

What happened next was something I’ll never forget. I walked up stairs and saw Jared and Tyler standing next to each other, expressionless. I looked at them for a few seconds, and Jared smiled. I knew—they won, and were going to break. This team that didn’t know what a counterplan was six months before, that argued with me for weeks on end about why topicality is occasionally a good thing, that couldn’t structure a disad to save their life, this team—was going to break at a national tournament. Without saying a word, I gave them both a big, long hug. I was more proud of them than I’ve ever been of anyone, and it felt as good as anything I accomplished as a competitor.

Although we wouldn’t find out for a few hours, Josh and Kyle had won round eight too, ending up at a respectable 4-4. Despite dropping on a 2-1 in quads, I was still very happy to have coached Jared and Tyler.

However, with me leaving, Jared studying abroad and without any debate coach, next year promises to be a tough one for my debaters. I just hope that if they’re struggling at some point, they make the choice, like we all did over winter break, to work that much harder and never give up.

Tandy Hard #1

2006-07-30T20:30:00.000-07:00

I cared what she thought, so when she dared me I knew I was in trouble. A dare is something you can’t take back or alter. Once it’s said you have two choices. Do the dare, and risk humiliation and bodily harm accomplishing the act; or don’t do the dare and be condemned to be a coward for the rest of your high school existence.

In rural Nebraska, there’s not much to do, so our dares tend to be a little more violent than the paltry “run around the circle clucking like a chicken.” Climbing water towers and running along the tops of the corrugated tin barn roofs were just a few of the more risky endeavors and dares. Jim had broken is collar bone falling off his parent’s roof once. That had ended the Truth or Dare games for a while, but not permanently.

Those were the physically risky dares, there were other psychologically risky dares. Peeping into her bedroom and seeing Mrs. Barnesdale naked was a truly harrowing experience. The worst was the termed the “Gauntlet”. Running through the side of town was a deep drainage ditch/culvert. Nettle trees intertwined around the banks forming an enclosed tunnel about five feet tall. Imagine the “Evil Trees” in the Wizard of Oz feed by corn fertilizer runoff, and you’d get a pretty good picture of what it looked like. The drainage trench would go under the gravel roads, and a big cement cylinder would serve as the bridge structure. Raccoons would make nests there, snakes would fall asleep, lying out on the dry cracked mud, left over from the last rain. Cicadas would nestle in the trees making an eerie er-er sound. Sometimes the sound would stop instantaneously, like the hundreds of insects had halted on cue, to something more powerful and sinister. At night the thorns and leaves blocked the stars, so the Gauntlet seemed like an ascent into the netherworld with no Virgil for a guide.

We played truth or dare to shake off our childhood. We proved to each other that we were strong and brave, wise and experienced. Risking and telling it all to show that we were adults, that we accepted the risk as a part of a so-called thrilling adult life.

She knew what she asked of me; she was getting back at me for Mike and I’s “extra-curricular activities” behind the football field. And I had no choice to accept. Not doing so would relegate me to the lowest of the low. I had to walk the Guantlet, without a flashlight.

As I entered in, climbing between a hole through the trees, Mike slipped me his tiny key chain flashlight. “Only for emergencies, they’ll see if you use it.” He whispered, as I awkwardly climbed down the dirt bank. I was greeted at the bottom with the small shower of soil I had displaced on my way down.

I walked gingerly through the Gauntlet, lightly placing my foot down until I was sure there wasn’t something that would yelp or hiss as I put my weight on it. I breathed very quietly as I walked, hoping that if I was silent as possible, the trees would ignore my presence. I was fighting back the monsters in my imagination, preventing them from coming out. And I was finally winning. As I paced through a cement bridge, my foot hit something light and hollow.

They wouldn’t see the light because I was enclosed, and I stopped (I felt at little bolder for making it this far). Using the flashlight, I could see some kid’s old cigar box. Inside was his baseball cards and a few green army guys, part of his childhood hidden away from the rest of the world.

But then, a Opossum saw my presence as he moved down the tunnel. He hissed, and I thought I saw foam. Not wanting Rabies, I started running and screaming pell-mell through the rest of the Gauntlet. I finally arrived to see my friends stricken and then grinning faces.

“What was it?” Mike asked.

“Some opossum, scared the shit out of me though” I said.

“We could tell, but what’s that?” She said, as the others glanced at the cigar box.

“Some kids’ stuff I found under the bridge.”

“I dare you to burn it.”

And I was suddenly tired of Truth or Dare.

TKO #2

2006-07-30T19:03:00.000-07:00

TKO Question #2:

Write about a moment that you had a chance to choose whether you should fight or give up. What'd you choose? Why? What'd you go through when deciding what to do?

Please name your post your display name #2.

**

I will not do a vote/OOCast until there are at least five responses. Sorry guys but a vote seems kind of silly at this point.

Post is due in one week: Sunday midnight CNTL.

You may join the game at any time. If you would like me to send you an invite, comment in this post. Otherwise, if you are already signed up, happy writing!

At this point, I have sent invitations to all the OO4 contestants. If you missed it and need a new invite, contact me here or via email misshb AT gmail DOT com.

Alan #1

2006-07-30T15:27:00.001-07:00

I cared what she thought, so when she dared me I knew I was in trouble. I waited until after services were over and the pastor was seeing everyone off, then I made my move. I swiped the communion wine. I had hung back, telling my mom I’d left something in the pew, then approached the alter, grabbed the wine and ran out the side of the rectory. I hid the wine in the garden with the intention of getting it later that night.

I had no intention of really doing it when I’d first suggested it. But then Jessica dared me. She told me I should grab it, then we’d drink it later that night. She was so cute. How could I resist? Besides, I thought that, with the help of the wine, I might finally get to kiss her.

So after hiding the wine, I went back out the front of the church, said goodbye to Pastor Dan and headed home with my mom.

After dinner, I snuck out my bedroom window and made my way back to the church. I found the wine right where I had left it. I felt so dirty as I grabbed the bottle and headed to Jessica’s house. But I also felt excited. Sure, we got to drink a little wine every weekend. But this was going to be more than usual. And this was going to be illicit. Stolen sacramental wine.

I arrived in Jessica’s backyard and sent her a quick text message. A few moments later, her curtains parted and I saw her. She was grinning. She opened the window and climbed down the trellis on the side of the house. I watched her ass sway back and forth in her tight jeans as she came down. I gripped the wine bottle more tightly.

She jumped the last three feet and grabbed my hand, dragging me along toward the silly playhouse that took up part of the back yard. She told me once that she’d had it since she was a kid, and her dad refused to take it down. So she’d go here when she wanted a little privacy.

I uncapped the bottle and offered her the first swig. She drank deeply, then passed the bottle to me. I drank as well, savoring the taste of her cherry lip balm on the lip, mixed with the more sour taste of the wine. My head was swimming already, although I’m pretty sure that it was my proximity to Jessica that caused it.

I felt her hand on my arm. I looked up from the bottle and there she was, leaning toward me. I set the bottle down and licked my lips. This was it. We were going to kiss. I leaned in toward her, approaching slowly. My lips were mere inches from hers, when suddenly there was a bright light illuminating the small space. I looked up into the angry eyes of Jessica’s father, bright red from embarrassment and the wine.

“Uh…hello, Pastor Dan….”

JustLilia #1

2006-07-25T23:08:00.000-07:00

I cared what she thought, so when she dared me, I knew I was in trouble.

“If you’re at all serious about what you say all the time, you will do it. I mean, I guess you could not, but then you’d just be a hypocrite.” The word hypocrite was one of her most powerful weapons, and she executed it perfectly.

“I would not be a hypocrite. I am not a hypocrite. I don’t have to do everything I endorse intellectually. I don’t write erotica just because I think it can be good for women to read.” Fuck, that was the wrong thing to say, and I know she’s going to call…

“Well, maybe you should. If it’s so good for women, then you should be writing it. Put your pen where your mouth is, so to speak.”

…Me on it; I know she’s going to call me on it. Damn, she’s so quick she even interrupts my thoughts.

“So do it. Do it now.” She was becoming even more persistent about it because she thought she was winning the argument.

“Do what: write some erotica?” I was very intentionally avoiding the subject at hand.

“No, you know what I’m talking about. You are all talk and no action: Typical intellectual.” She smirked.

God I wanted to wipe that smirk off of her face. But honestly, when would this stop? She was always pushing me in new and different directions. That’s what I liked about her; she held me accountable for all of the shit I should be doing that I’m not. That’s also what I hated about her. She was a constant reminder of everything I should be… that I’m not.

“So…hello? Are you paying attention to me right now?” She gave me an obviously irritated glare.

“Yes, yes I am paying attention. I was just thinking.” I really had no idea if she’d just said something or not. Oh well, if she did and I missed it, I was not going to admit it then.

“What are you thinking about?” That was a loaded question.

“Umm, I’m just thinking about stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” She would probe until I gave her an answer that satisfied her, so I relented.

“You, me, stuff. Can I have a private thought once in a while? You’re already like my alter ego.” I really wanted to ask her if I could just have my life, the one before we were friends, back. No, I didn’t. I loved her. It was just that she was just a better, cooler version of me. And that really, really sucked.

“I’m flattered.” She was really bad at hiding her sarcasm. Then again, she wasn’t trying. She would’ve been really good at it, had she even put forth an iota of effort. She was really good at everything at which she put forth even the tiniest bit of effort.

“Of course you are. You’re flattered that you are like me, only better, and that I’m constantly reminded of it.” Of course, I wasn’t trying to cover my emotions either at this point. I didn’t care.

“I’m not better than you. If anything, I look up to you. You are an awesome, gorgeous woman. You should know that.” She gave me that sad empathetic look that she had a habit of giving at all of the right moments.

“No, I look up to you. Everything I want to do, you’ve done. And I know that you’re older, but I just still always feel so behind. I’m still living in your shadow as far as everyone we know is concerned.” Gosh, it felt so good to get that out, and also so bad that it was true. I dropped my head so as to avoid her stare.

“You know what will make you feel better?” She said it as she lifted my chin in a cute, ‘I care about you’ way.

“What?” I questioned her in a little whimper, a little sad and honestly not knowing what her answer would be.

“If you just do it.”

“Ok.” I whispered.

I brought my hand to the back of her head, grasping her soft short hair, and brought her nearer to me. Her hand slipped from my chin down my shoulder to the small of my back as we embraced. I moved my nose closer to hers as if to give her an Eskimo kiss and then brushed my lips across hers. I could taste the cherry chapstick we shared, but I didn’t know whose I was tasting. I opened my mouth, and my tongue met hers. For those few seconds, as we felt each others’ mouths touching and chests pressed together, I didn’t care what anyone thought. Eventually, we moved apart. I brushed her hair out of her face and looked into her doll-like big brown eyes.

I opened my mouth again, this time to say, “I do feel better.”

T-Mac #1

2006-07-25T07:15:00.000-07:00

Bad Lighting

I cared what she thought, so when she dared me I knew I was in trouble. Still, I was nervous. After all, I had never made a sex tape before. Setting up my digital camera just right took a few minutes because the light from the Bed Bath and Beyond scented vanilla candle kept throwing off the shot. Gale had this thing with scented candles that I never understood. By my logic, if we both end up sweating more than our backs after a road trip in July anyway, isn’t the whole thing a wash? Anyway, like I said, I was a little nervous, but that didn’t mean we didn’t have a lot of fun. Sex has a way of blocking everything else out.

When she broke up with me out of nowhere two months later however, now that was something I couldn’t block out. I went through all the stages you’re supposed to go through when you get out of a long relationship—I cried, I smashed things, I told myself I was over her, then I cried some more. Finally, I figured out two things. First, when the worst thing that you can picture even happening in your life actually happens and you’re still there, it’s the most liberating thing ever. If I can survive this, I thought, I can survive anything. And it’s true. I was freer than I had ever been. Second, I realized that I had the perfect tool for revenge, and I was determined to use it.

See, Gale didn’t just break up with me, she cheated on me first, and if that wasn’t bad enough, she did it with some jackass frat guy who was involved in the amazingly stupid student government at the college we all went to. Of course, I didn’t find that out for a while, but it eventually got back to me—it always does.

I think cheating on someone you love is one of the worst things anyone can ever do, but like most things in life, there are degrees of severity. On the one end, there’s getting cheated on when your girlfriend gets drunk and screws Clive Owen. That’s still bad, but at least understandable, if not forgivable. Hell, I would almost screw Clive Owen. On the other end, there’s screwing some meathead frat guy who builds replica gyms using Popsicle sticks and a hot glue gun. I just couldn’t let Gale slide of this one.

My plan was fairly simple. First, I burned a copy of our sexual acrobatics onto a DVR and mailed it in place of the Netflix movie I had rented. Since it was Tristan and Isolde, I figure I was doing the future renters a favor. The arts and crafts stage was next. I made some adjustments to the touristy picture of Gale and me on top of the Space Needle and tossed it in the mail, too. A few weeks later my revenge was complete. Like most people I know, Gale checks postsecret every Sunday. Although I wasn’t in the computer lab to see it, I’m told she shouted for ten minutes straight after she read it. There, on postsecret, was a picture of us a year before on our road trip to Seattle, my face blacked out, with a typed message glued over it that read: “I returned a copy of our sex tape in place of my Netflix DVD. I hope he was worth it. Happy anniversary.”

Like I said, I knew I was in trouble when she dared me, but I’m sure glad she did.

TKO Question #1

2006-07-24T12:23:00.000-07:00

TKO Question #1:

"I cared what she thought, so when she dared me I knew I was in trouble."

Begin your post with that sentence.

(You don't have to have quote marks, I just put those to set off the clause :) You may or may not use that as a quotation.)

Please name your post your display name #1.

**

Post is due in one week: Sunday midnight CNTL.

You may join the game at any time. If you would like me to send you an invite, comment in this post. Otherwise, if you are already signed up, happy writing!

At this point, I have sent invitations to all the OO4 contestants. If you missed it and need a new invite, contact me here or via email misshb AT gmail DOT com.

ETA: One Week

2006-07-01T22:37:00.000-07:00

The first prompt will be posted on THIS Sunday. If you would like to play, post a comment and I will send you an invitation. Read below for full details.

About Ongoing Onslaught

2006-07-01T21:55:00.000-07:00

WHAT is this?

This is an ongoing community writing project. All of the players respond to the same prompt. At the end of the week, players and guests vote for their favorite responses. The ten most popular posts will be read in a podcast.

WHO can play?

Anyone! It does not matter if you do not have your own blog or if you have never participated in Onslaught before. It also does not matter when you find this game -- you may join at any time.

WHY should I play?

Everyone wishes they wrote more creative, fun things. It’s hard to push yourself and certainly hard to expose yourself too. OO provides you with a chance to get that feedback, achieve those goals, and learn from others too. All the contestants always say that it’s so much fun to read what they wrote and compare with others to see how they understood the prompt.

HOW do I play?

First, you must sign up. You may leave a comment on any of the posts with your name AND email address. I will email you an invitation so that you may join the blog.

Second, you must read the detailed rules post. This is your complete guide on what you must do as a player in the game. Please read them and be familiar with the game's operations.

Third, when you receive the invitation from blogger, follow the instructions in the email. You may choose any username that you would like. If you already have a blogger account, you don't have to get a new one.

Fourth, wait for the week's TKO to be posted on Sunday. Respond! Have fun!

WHEN does the game start/last?

The game is ongoing. This means you can join and quit whenever you would like to. Prompts are posted on Sundays and you have exactly one week to respond. You may choose to write some weeks and skip others.

WHERE can I learn more?

I began hosting this game because of the overwhelming response to the summer competitions called Online Onslaught. If you would like to read the archives of these contests, choose a link below. This will give you an idea of the kinds of prompts in the game and the different ways that players respond to those prompts.

Online Onslaught Four -- Summer 2006
Online Onslaught Three -- Summer 2005
Online Onslaught Two -- Summer 2004
Online Onslaught One -- Summer 2002

WHO is responsible for this game?

Ongoing Onslaught is hosted by Marie, the author of Modern Acropolis. The OOCast will be made possible with the ideas and technological help of Ian at Burning Light of Reason.

The Rules of Ongoing Onslaught

2006-07-01T21:07:00.000-07:00

General: This is a creative writing blogging game. Every Sunday I will post a prompt and players will have exactly one week to respond. At the end of the week, all players and visitors will vote for their favorite contestants. I will read aloud the ten best posts for a podcast and post those results here.

The Specifics:

Posting

(1) I will post the week's TKO (total knock out) prompt every Sunday. The prompts will be selected by me but all players are strongly suggested to submit specific ideas to me.

(2) All players have exactly one week to post a response.

(3) There are only two limitations on what your post can be. It must be less than a thousand (1000) words and it must be a response to the TKO prompt.

Voting

(4) After the deadline to respond has passed, I will create an online survey so that players can vote for their favorite responses to that TKO prompt. I will post a link to that survey as well as the TKO prompt for the next week.

(5) All players will have four days to vote. Each player must vote for their four favorite responses to the TKO prompt. Additionally, all players must submit constructive feedback for two of the players they did not choose as their favorites. If players do not vote before the deadline, then they will be considered ineligible for the OOCast.

Results

(6) When the deadline to vote has passed, I will total the results and post a list of the most popular players that week on the blog. The ten most favorite'd responses will earn a spot in OOCast (or if there are less than ten players, then the best 2/3s). If there is a tie, I will not break it. Instead, I will adjust the number of posts for the OOCast that week as needed.

OOCast

(7) The OOCast is a podcast of the best TKO responses.

(8) Whichever player received the most favorite votes may if s/he chooses read the responses for the OOCast. If s/he does not want to, then I will do it myself.

(9) The OOCast will be uploaded here so that all players and guests may listen to the writing. Additionally, I will include OOCast in itunes database so strangers may also listen to your work.

Philosophy of Ongoing Onslaught

(10) This game is intended to be both encouraging and challenging. I will never tolerate anyone doing anything mean to other players. This includes excessively negative feedback or anything that I consider "gaming" the game to try to get an unfair advantage. After all, if you cheat, then your peers did not really like your writing and that is after all the point.

(11) In this spirit, I will never publically post the vote tallys. I will, however, tell you your totals each week but I do not think it is neccessary for other players to know how others are doing. I will also never ever tell anyone who voted for who. Therefore, you do not need to vote for your friends so they won't get upset. Unless you choose to tell them, nobody will know how chose them as their favorite.

Important Ways Ongoing Onslaught is Different Than the Online Onslaught Summer Games

* If you have not participated in Online Onslaught in the past, then you may ignore this section.

(12) Players will not be anonymous. You may use your real name or whatever handle you would like to identify yourself in the game. Because this game is not anonymous, you may also post your response on your own blog to share with your readers.

(13) Players will not be removed from the game no matter how few votes they receive. This is "Ongoing" Onslaught meaning that the posting and writing continues. Only the best players will be included in the OOCasts but all players will be able to post their response on the blog.

(14) If players fail to respond to a post there is also no penalty. You may choose to come and go as you choose. That being said, players should not choose to play only when they have a great idea for the TKO prompt. Instead, players should only skip weeks when they really do not have the time to participate.

One Month of Inactivity

(15) If you do not respond to four posts in a row, I will remove your permission to post. You may re-join, however, if you comment asking to sign up. I just do not want to leave players who have quit in the system.