Query of the Day

"LOGLINE: Incest, (a sexual aroused teenage boy) "please mom it aches help me". A story that builds into wild humor exploding sex crazed hormone affairs, with a teacher and her male students to break their imaginary cherries. Car drag races, plus chases, to inflate egos and remove unwanted sexual coronary seduction competition.

SYNOPSIS: (Base on a true story) of a 15 year old boy's uncontrollable sex drive, which evolves into incest with his 12 year old sister, escalating to his 34 year old mother and concluding with the rape of his 26 year old English teacher. Located in Central California, in the muscle car high octane action of the late 50's & 60's. Happier times with the spirit of American Graffiti, high school romances warm and beautiful, entwined with testosterone male hormones and unrestrained sexual desires. Car drag races to inflate male and female self esteem egos. Car chases to dislodge neighboring towns dating boys, way from their own home grown, prim, alluring, sexy females, in addition, a violent physical fight, a testimonial of innocents, to defending a girls honor and reserve her dignity. Argumentatively, the best cars, the best of times, and the best teen music ever recorded, energized through out this movie.

Reminiscent of American Graffiti fused with American Pie, plus young love heartaches. "

And now I'm on Skype, too

michael.kuciak

I'm internutty!

I'm On Twitter Now

I got enough twitter invites that I thought... what the fuck, why not.

So it's mikekuciak on twitter.

Now the world can finally be saved.

Query of the Day

"Paul Stanley is a man with prosperity in his corner, until he moves to Maine and receives a calling; a calling that seems like a personal invitation straight to hell or so he thinks. Now, Paul and two other men will soon meet down under and discover this is not the devil; this is an alien! A black velvet, winged, mole-like alien, with cataclysmic, gravitational powers, confiscating 2000 years of our avionic and nautilus technology, in efforts to piece together its damaged space ship. Unfortunately, for these three men, near death experiences are what's in store if they want to escape."

Writing and Noah's Ark

With IMPLANT moving forward and DEAD RIGHT THERE out of my hands, I'm working on a treatment for the next action project, EXTRADITION. This one's very research-intensive, so it'll likely take me a week or two. That's fine -- with both IMPLANT and DRT, I found a lot of cool action/story/character things via research, so I don't rue the extra time it takes.

But as I've mentioned before, I like to work on smaller, weirder, more personal projects either between or concurrent with the action stuff. It keeps writing fun for me. (Not to say writing action specs isn't fun, but you know...)

When I was fifteen, my very first job was working in the Small Animals and Reptiles department of Noah's Ark, which billed itself as the "world's largest pet store." I was there for a year or so, and some truly bizarre shit went down at that place. Oddly, the experience gave me a real passion for working... I thought that, if every job was this fucking weird, I'd never get bored. (By the way: I was wrong, most jobs are dull). I walked out of Noah's Ark with a collection of stranger-than-fiction stories, which I've kept in the back of my head, waiting for a good opportunity to put them somewhere.

Yesterday, I put in some hours on scaffolding out the EXTRADITION story beats. When I started to run out of juice on that, I poured some red wine, flipped open a blank Final Draft doc and just started writing. Long/short - I cracked out fifteen pages without even thinking about it, feeling like I could have done another fifteen, but I wanted to get some sleep. And all of that was just set-up... the weird shit doesn't even kick into high gear until act two. I'm thinking I'll goose act one by opening on an animal attack, and cut back in time to the set-up.

But damn... there are so many stories to be told about Noah's Ark, I'm already suspecting this script'll turn out to be nothing but a treatment for a novel. The challenge will be in not falling into the episodic trap: this happened, then this happened, then this happened, the end.

But I think that'll be easy to solve by focusing on the crime ring aspect...

Attacked by an Umbrella

I was at a meeting this afternoon. We met for coffee at this cafe... it was a patio table with an umbrella situation.

Just as we got done, I stood and picked up my motorcycle helmet. At that moment, a huge gust of wind came along and yanked the umbrella out of the table, which flew down and bonked me on the head. It looked a lot worse than it was... a bunch of people ran over to see if I was alive. I was fine.

But I thought it was funny that, purely by chance, I happened to have head protection in my hand at the same second I got randomly clocked outta nowhere.

I tells ya, kids.. that's irony for ya!

Hoppy Easter!

Time to get sick on Peeps...

Don't Eat Cookies

I haven't blogged because I've been busy at the day job.

While riding back to LA from AZ, I kept my mind occupied by composing the epic blog I would write upon my return. That didn't quite happen. Suffice to say, it was harrowing. In the hills outside Palm Springs, the wind comes at you from every direction, suddenly shifting without losing strength. A gust would hit me from the left, and I'd lean hard into it to stay upright. Out of nowhere, the wind would hit from the exact opposite direction, slamming into me when I'm already leaned. Doing 75-mph and getting tossed into a 45-degree angle is pure "OhshitohshitohshitOHSHIT!!!"

I spent twenty miles hiding behind an 18-wheeler doing about 45-mph. I can't say for a fact, but at the time I seriously thought that truck saved my life. Thanks, Stevens Transport.

And fuck Palm Springs.

I'm not making that ride again until I have a stronger and heavier bike. The Rebel is awesome for tooling around the city, but... shit, you're asking for it on the open road. No wonder everyone thought I was insane.

I'm back in AZ, getting in a quick visit with the fam for Easter ham. This time, I took the iron bird, leaving the bike in airport parking.

I got in late and didn't have much to eat. I warmed up a couple of tacos but, after waking up, I was a hungry man. I rummaged around in the pantry, looking for something snacklicious.

Now... I've been making an effort to eat better: lots of lean protein, fruit 'n' veggies, dialing back on the booze, etc. I haven't noticed anything different in terms of the way I feel, outside of an incipient loathing for garbage food. The idea of hitting the Jack in the Box down the street from the office makes my guts twist.

But I looked in that pantry and saw some ginger cookies with icing. And I thought: "Man, it's been a while since I've had a cookie." I grabbed a handful and ate them while watching TWO MINUTE WARNING (which I found to be 99% awful and 1% brilliant -- it's like the boring, American version of DAIMAJIN... TARGETS is way better).

Long/short, I ate the cookies, and now I feel like complete ass. I'm simultaneously hyper and dopey, and it seems like I injected Elmer's glue into my brain to achieve the effect. I'm getting messages from my stomach. They're written on soggy bits of paper, and they all read the same thing: "Thanks, asshole. Signed, Mike's Stomach."

Take my advice and don't eat cookies. They're bad for you.

I'm even more of an idiot because there's a laden orange tree in the back yard. Instead of going outside, plucking a fresh orange and eating that fine example of delicious nature's bounty, I shoveled in a handful of sugary crap. Because it had been a while since I'd eaten a cookie. Ugh...

But it's kinda like riding the Rebel across the desert... I have to find out shit's bad for me on my own. Advice? Logic?! Bah humbug. Suffering and fear are far better teachers.