Tuesdays With Phineas Redux

'Gabrielle Has a Bad Day'

There’s a little story attached to the following series of pictures. Be sure and follow the plot closely now, please —

*

“Hi’ya, little one. What’s your prob’s? Eew!”

*

“Eew!, is right, Golden Goddess of Love—or something! So you got a bargain handful of clothes-spells from the Delphic Oracle when she had a ‘off the back of a wagon’ sale, eh! An’ you used one o’those spells for a beautiful satin gown for lil’ ol’ me — except, as I’ve just found out, the spell had a ‘Sell-by Date’ somewhere back in the third century BC, and now anything it’s put on just melts in the sunlight—as you can see. Well?”

*

“Oo-er! Did I do that? Gosh! I suppose you’ll be wondering if I can, er, reverse it back? Difficulty there, Goldenlocks, is they’re all ‘one-use & throw away’ spells. So I can’t help ya, I don’t think. Tough, ain’t it. Is that, er, sort’a messy, an’ gooey, an’ nasty?”

*

“You ought’a be ashamed of yourself.” Callisto wrinkled her nose and sniffed haughtily. “Why, even I wouldn’t stoop so low. How could you behave in such an awful way t’little green-eyes here. I mean, she’s so cute.”

“Please don’t call me that, Cally dear.” Gabrielle was rapidly approaching the Land Where Crazy People Live, and it was beginning to show in the emerald sparks flashing in her eyes. “So, Aphro, what’s it t’be—a showdown right here; or I take you in for trial at Fort Worth in a week’s time. Which’ll it be?”

*

“OK, OK, let’s not get our ‘you know what’s’ in a twist. I got it under control; I can handle it. Er,—er,—er. Lem’me think a minute.”

*

“You better come up with something quick, Valley Goddess.” Gabrielle was losing it at a rate of knots now.

“Yeah, come up with something—”

“Can it, Cal.” Gab snarled, with animal intensity. “The Pink Doll here’s gon’na bust her beautiful little brain findin’ the answer, or I’ll know the reason why not!”

“Too true—Gab’s’ll know the reas—”

“Give it a rest, Evil Bi-ch from Hades. I can work this out on my own, thanks.” Even Gabrielle’s voice sounded more like Xena’s now—on a particularly bad day. “Well, ‘Dite? What’s cookin’ in that empty receptacle where most other people are accustomed to keep their brains?”

“Awww! I’m workin’ on it, OK!”

“Grrr!”

*

“Hey, Joxer! Got a job for you. Y’can help try an’ get this God-awful stuff off me.”

“When you say—‘Off me’, what exactly d’ya mean, Gabs?”

“I mean come over here, an’ start pullin’ this mess off my pretty white skin. An’ watch where your fingers go, or I’ll do somethin’ awful t’you—directly after I’ve done somethin’ awful t’the Pink Goddess over there.”

*

“Great Athena, this is disgusting.” Gabrielle sniffed in a mixture of pity, anger, and spiralling insane rage. “If you put your hand just once more where you put it a second ago the Joxer Family ends right here, OK?”

“Gods, I can’t help it, Gabs. You’re covered in grotty, sticky, stretchy, goo. What can I do?”

“Rrrr! Someone’s gon’na pay for this.” Gabrielle showed her pretty white teeth. “An’ I’m beginnin’ not t’care exactly who. Just as long as agony, gore, an’ screamin’ feature prominently in the proceedings!”

*

“Eeew! That is sooo what shouldn’t be happening. I think I’m gon’na throw-up!”

*

“OK, I think I’ve found the Reverse Spell. Just close your eyes, Gabs. Y’might feel a little dizzy an’ wobbly on your pins for a moment.”

*

“I’m there already, Pink Lotus Blossom of My Heart.” Gabrielle’s tone did not reflect the delicate charm of her words. “Just remember, I have many skills now—so watch it, babe! Make me angry, that’s all I ask, just make me angry!”

*

“Who’s been a very naughty Goddess of Love, then?” Callisto thought she might as well carry on milking the situation for all its poetic intensity. After all, she didn’t get a chance like this often. “Who’s a baad, baad, Goddess of Love? Why—Aphrodite. Who’d a’thought?”

“Cal,—bugger off.” Gabrielle, on her part, thought it well nigh time to show her butch side. “Or I might have’ta get Amazonian on your ass. Just a friendly warning.”

“Phooey, I’m out’ta here. I know when I’m not wanted. See ya, gals.”

*

“There we are, I knew I could do it.” The Pink Wonder stepped back with a wide grin. “Always knew there was nothing t’worry about. Y’should really have more faith in me, my little pet.”

“I don’t want faith.” Gab was still ever so slightly irritated. “I want clothes that don’t turn t’goo an’ stick all over my—, er,—all over me. D’you know how embarassing it was to have Joxer help me like that, Goddess?”

“Aww, swee’pea, that ain’t fair. I was just tryin’ t’bring a little sunshine into your life. It was that nasty Delphic Oracle.” Aphrodite nodded, with regained happiness. “Who was t’know she was sellin’ out’ta date goods. There’s laws against that, ain’t there? ‘Bye, sweetie, see ya later!”

“Oh, Gods, I suppose so.”

*

“ . . an’ then Aphrodite said it’d be quite simple. An’ then I was wearing the most beautiful satin gown. An’ then I walked out in the sunshine, an’ it melted—all over me. An’ then ‘Dite had trouble remembering how to sort it. An’ I got Joxer t’help try an’ get it off. N’ then ‘Dite finally got the right spell, an’ I was back t’normal. Gods, what an awful day, Xena.”

“There, there.” Xena gently curled her fingers in the tearful Amazon’s golden locks. “Let’s go back t’the Inn an’ have a beaker or two of wine, then spend the evening t’gether. D’ya wan’na spend the evening t’gether? With me, I mean?”

“Damn right, Princess. Come on, let’s go.”

*

Gosh, what an epic. The things that happen to an Amazon when her guards down! What’ll our beautiful heroines be getting mixed up in next, I wonder?

***


~Phineas Redux~

Tuesdays With Phineas Redux

Phineas Pursues His Dream

Rain was still coming through the decrepit slate roof in places, but that was a minor problem; at least the cracked window was now sealed. What a great idea it had been to use that old oil painting, by some guy called Turner, which had been taking up space on the drawing-room wall since his grandfather’s time. Wedging it across the broken glass pane certainly did now keep the rain at bay. Of course it meant you could no longer see out the window; but that was of no consequence, compared to the usual puddle on the floor.

Phineas’s pad, courtesy of William John Muller.

Phineas gave himself a pat on the back (well, of course, he didn’t actually pat himself on the back. That’s just a figure of speech, familiar to all great writers like myself). Then he settled down at his accustomed place of work. The room was low-ceilinged, with rafters; the building itself dating from Elizabethan times, it being the Redux family’s proud boast that not a single item of repair had ever been carried out on the structure since its foundation. On the street side were two low, square, diamond-paned windows; one of which had jammed shut 120 years earlier and had never been opened since. The other was the one now concealed by the oil painting. “Thank goodness for paint-daubers.” Phineas thought happily as he sat down, “If they hadn’t spent so much time splattering paint all over canvases, where would he be now?”

‘Shade and Darkness, The Evening of the Deluge’. Oil painting by JMW Turner. 1843.

The desk was actually a reclaimed kitchen table, though made of oak. It had been varnished with exterior brick-sealant some time in the past; and now if a book was laid on it for any appreciable time it tended to stick in place. Phineas, in his brilliance, had vanquished this difficulty by laying a couple of pieces of floor linoleum at strategic places on the desk, so that problem was solved; though it did nothing for the harmonious styling of the desk’s appearance. At his elbow as he sat on the rickety chair, itself a refugee from the kitchen, lay an ink-pot and quill with goose feather. He had indeed heard of such new-fangled devices as typewriters and carbon-paper; but Phineas had a deeply ingrained reverence for the old traditions. What had been good enough for his great-grandfather, Quintilian Redux, was still good enough for him.

Marcus Fabius Quintilianus. 35AD-100AD.

Ah, he thought parenthetically (look it up, must I do everything?), as he fidgeted on his chair trying to get comfortably settled, dear old Great-Grandfather Quint, what a guy. One of the most successful authors of Boys Stories and later, under the pseudo-moniker ‘Atalanta Carter’, Girls’ Stories as well in the middle of the 19th century; who, at one point, had kept no fewer than five weekly magazines (or Penny Dreadful’s, as they were then called) in profitable business at the same time.

Writing ‘Xena; Warrior Princess’ stories for his part, Phineas mused or cogitated (no, it isn’t illegal or vulgar; you must be thinking of something else!), was so difficult to get just right—the present-day audience being so demanding! This regularly made him consider why he had not chosen more mainstream Heroic claimants to his literary exertions. Why hadn’t he taken Gladys Mitchell’s advice, that time they had shared vodka ‘Red Hunter’ cocktails at the ‘Mystery Writer’s’ Club, back in the ‘50’s. The Grand Old Lady (probably a non-PC term nowadays, Phineas gloomily thought) of the mystery tale had knocked back her second cocktail with all the graceful aplomb of a Lady of Quality and nodded wisely. “ ‘Sapper’ was your man, Phin, old cock. H C McNeile knew his blood and guts. After all, wasn’t he a commissioned officer in the First World War, who went into No-Man’s Land regularly to do awful things personally to the Hun? He knew how to put a really good ‘Knock ‘em About’ story together. If you must write stories around some other author’s characters Phin, you old blister, then ‘Bulldog Drummond’s your man.”

Gladys Mitchell. 1901-1983.

Wise advice indeed but Phineas, seeking greater more adventurous fields for his endeavour, had pooh-poohed this helpful guidance. Telling Gladys what he thought of her helpful hints, and ‘Bulldog Drummond’ in particular, using strong manly short Anglo-Saxon terms—and receiving back from the Grande Dame, on her part, some unrestrained and authoritative suggestions as to his next course of action—he had tottered out into the Pall Mall twilight three sheets to the wind, ‘Red Hunters’ do that to you, and collided with the personification of England’s Law in human form, ie, a policewoman in uniform; who had immediately sorted his hash by knocking him down with her baton—an entirely proper action in the circumstances. A night in the cells; an appearance at the Morning Session of Bow St. Magistrates Court; the forced separation between him and one of his most treasured and beloved £5 notes; and the business was swiftly concluded to everyone’s satisfaction.

Phineas meandered homewards,—looking for all the world like a bedraggled out-of-position sailor loitering along to the Pool to see if his next ship had come in—cudgelling his brains, or what euphemistically passed muster for them, trying to come up with a really good subject for his writing skills. But later in the day when Time, an ice-pack on the forehead, and calm reasoning had all fulfilled their combined reason d’etre, Phineas recognized the sad reality of his situation. There was nothing for it but to keep the blue devils at bay by watching that DVD Aunt Clytemnestra had sent him last Christmas, from the depths of Patagonia where she kept her hacienda. A lost cause if ever there was one, but with no hope left Phineas pushed the appropriate buttons, settled back on his broken-springed sofa, and prepared for an uncomfortable hour in front of the seven-inch screen monochrome 1948 goggle-box which, surprisingly, was still in working order.

1948 RCA TV.

But what’s this? A tall dark-haired woman riding a white horse, flailing a nasty looking sword the while. Accompanied by a delicate petite blonde girl with a sweet smile, and a snappy attitude and tongue that’d call forth admiration in any group of fishwives you’d care to assemble. Set in Ancient Greece, Ancient Rome, Modern America, Old China, the Steppes of Russia, snowy mountains in Norway, Classical Japan; in fact, just about everywhere, and in every possible time you care to mention! Let’s see, Phineas thought or ruminated, as he pulled the tattered copy of ‘Weekly TV Schedules’ from where he’d kicked it under the sofa last Wednesday. Ah, here it is—‘Xena; Warrior Princess’, hmm, seems worth looking at—let’s see what it’s about.

An hour later and Phineas had seen the light. Xena and Gabrielle were his gals, and fan-fiction was his game. What this franchise obviously needed was a battalion of really determined sincere dedicated fan-fiction writers. And why not be among the first, thought Phineas; sitting at his desk and stirring the stodgy ink in its stone bottle with the point of an old quill; arranging the pile of loose sheets of paper to his right-hand side; and placing firmly on his head the woollen cap he favoured when under the influence of his Muse (it kept his ever-increasing bald spot warm, y’understand). So then, how should it go —

*

‘The camp-fire had scarcely begun flickering in the wan morning light before the crowd of banditos, hiding in the surrounding bushes, ran out to overcome the two women. In a flash there were screams of fear, crashes as bodies hit the dirt, horrible noises as limbs were wrenched painfully out of alignment, and scuffling sounds as the survivors ran for the horizon.

“Just another morning, Xena.” The fair-haired small woman bent down, to carry on putting eggs in the now slightly bent frying-pan.

“Yep, just another day. Gives me an appetite, though.” The tall dark dangerous woman grinned widely at her companion. “Good job we got six eggs; two for you, an’ four for me.”

“Har, Har, Warrior Princess.” Gabrielle was having none of it. “Separate me from my third egg an’ you’ll be sorry, baby!”

Fighting at the Campfire. The gals protect their breakfast.

The End.

*

Notes —
1. ‘Red Hunter’ cocktail— 1 part vodka; 1 part Single Malt 12 year old Scotch whisky; a smidgin of Green Chartreuse; a dash of Angostura bitters; and several grains of pure sea-salt. It is of course always shaken, never stirred. It is also strongly advised to write your Will before drinking.
2. The Pool. An area of the Thames where cargo ships anchored at numerous wharves.
3. Blue devils. Immaterial visions attributed to extreme gloom, despair, or melancholy.
4. goggle-box. British slang for television set.
5. General chronology may be somewhat dubious; but Hades, where would all the fun be if everything were boringly straightforward—it never bothered Xena and Gabrielle in their adventures, you’ll recall!

Tuesdays With Phineas Redux

Woman Warriors in Real History

There have been in reality some very famous Goddesses and woman warriors who, no doubt, may have contributed as role models to ‘Xena; Warrior Princess’. I expect the earliest example is the Egyptian goddess Nuit, or Nut, Goddess of the Sky. Then come the Greek Goddesses Athena and Hera. The latter of whom has received a bad press in our favourite TV series; but, Hades, I’m sure she wasn’t as bad as she was painted. After which come some heroines of early Japan. I’m thinking of Tomoe Gozen and Hangaku, here. These are the sort of women Xena and Gabrielle could easily have been mixed up with. In Britain I suppose the most famous woman warrior of old must be Boudica, Warrior Queen of the Iceni. The Iceni being the local tribe of the region over which she ruled (modern Norfolk/Suffolk). Then comes Maid Marian of Sherwood Forest; although she is obviously more of a Gabrielle role model than otherwise. In fact I’m surprised no-one has had the idea of transplanting Xena and Gabrielle to the shaded glades of the Forest, and making a wholly female characterisation of the Robin Hood stories. Xena would make a perfect Robin, with Marian by her side. Maybe they could have a friendly rivalry with the real pair? That would be fun.

***

Nuit was originally the Egyptian Goddess of the night-time sky, but eventually became simply the Sky-Goddess. One of her major functions was to protect the dead after they entered the after-life. She was generally portrayed as leaning forward arching over the earth and its people, protecting them; and was also shown as a night sky with many stars. Her portrait was placed on the inside of sarcophagus covers, or on the ceilings of tomb chambers, in her over-arching persona, protecting the dead person.

*

Hera, wife of Zeus, was the chief Goddess of women & marriage. It does appear, however, that she did have a jealous and vengeful nature; mostly against those myriads of Zeus’s lovers, but also any mortal who crossed her. She had a particular antipathy for Aphrodite. In the famous ‘Judgment of Paris’, Athena, Hera, and Aphrodite were judged for their beauty by the Trojan Prince Paris (who, you’d have thought, really ought to have known better!). Aphrodite won, to Hera’s undying enmity; she (Hera, that is) then going on to take out some of her spite by causing the Trojan War, as you would in similar circumstances.

*

Athena is altogether a nicer sort of person. Someone you could associate with your favourite aunt; if you visualize your aunt as a tall blonde Warrior-Woman wearing a Corinthian war-helmet and grasping a long spear, ready to take on all comers for the safety of Athens. The Parthenon on the Acropolis in Athens is built in her honour. Inside there used to be placed a giant seated statue of Athena which was famous throughout the Ancient world. Several statues of lesser size and quality, mainly Roman copies, remain to show the sort of aspect the original had. In the image shown above, her eyes would originally have been ivory insets, probably with brightly painted pupils.

*

Tomoe Gozen was a long-lived (90!) female samurai warrior of the late 12th-early 13th centuries AD. She survived involvement as a fighting warrior in at least one major war, and was the concubine/wife of the famous Minamoto no Yoshinaka. According to one historical account, “Tomoe was especially beautiful, with white skin, long hair, and charming features. She was also a remarkably strong archer, and as a swordswoman she was a warrior worth a thousand, ready to confront a demon or a god, mounted or on foot. She handled unbroken horses with superb skill; she rode unscathed down perilous descents. Whenever a battle was imminent, Yoshinaka sent her out as his first captain, equipped with strong armor, an oversized sword, and a mighty bow; and she performed more deeds of valor than any of his other warriors.” — The Tale of the Heike.

The image above, showing Tomoe in action on horseback, is a woodblock Ukiyo-e print by the Japanese artist Chikanobu Toyohara.

*

Hangaku Gozen lived in the late 12th century AD, being another female samurai warrior. She was most active around the year 1201 when she raised an army against rebels. Wounded in battle by an arrow, she was captured and taken to the Shogun. Here she met a young warrior whom she married, ultimately having a daughter.

The image above, of Hangaku on her rearing horse, is a woodblock Ukiyo-e print by the Japanese artist Yoshitoshi Tsukioka.

*

Boudica is famous for being the first British rebel against the might of Rome. She initiated a rebellion after she and her family were ill-treated by Roman officials and Generals after the death of her husband Prasutagus; who was the King of his tribe, the Iceni. Boudica raised an army and swept through the Roman defences; having great success initially. Finally, however, she was defeated and disappeared from history; it being generally assumed she was killed in battle. The only images I could find were of various actresses giving of their best by screaming savagely to camera. The only authentic artistic image available seems to be of the famous statue in London, which by chance I use as my icon. So I have no hesitation in giving a variant image of this monument as her portrait here.

*

Maid Marian is the most mythical of all the woman warriors. There is very little, or no, evidence to show anyone like her ever actually took part in the adventures of Robin Hood. In fact Robin himself is more myth than real person. But the stories have spawned a continuing romantic conception of the pair which still has power to enthrall the imagination. The image of her I give here, surprisingly, is the only one of even near-artistic quality I could find. All the others ranged through variations of either the childish, cartoon character, manga, to the simply erotic or ridiculous. Which, I suppose, at least proves her enduring popularity!

*

There are, no doubt, many other worthy contenders for the position of woman warrior throughout history, but this is a selection of the most famous. It shows, if nothing else, that the idea of a woman breaking the bounds (and bonds) of Society and thereby making a place for herself in a male world is not a modern notion but goes back to the Classical period of History. There have been many woman warriors; and there will, assuredly, be many more.


~Phineas Redux~


'A Series of Cyphers' by Phineas Redux
This is an Uberfic set in Great Britain in 1943. Zena Mathews and Gabrielle Parker, both pilots and members of SOE—Special Operations Executive, are on a mission to transport a mysterious object from the North Atlantic to Southern England. On the way they hit various problems and dangers.
http://www.academyofbards.org/fanfic/p/phineasredux_aseriesofcyphers.html

Tuesdays With Phineas Redux

My Pen-Name, & Related Topics

I’m asked, now and again, what relevance my pen-name has to the ‘Xena; Warrior Princess’ universe? Well, none really. When I wrote my first piece of ‘Xena’ fan-fiction and uploaded it for public inspection I sat and pondered over this subject for some time. (Yes, I am capable of logical sustained thought, thank you very much!). “What, . . . . , do you suppose is the best moniker to use?” ( . . . ., being my real name, you understand). And this is me communing with my Muse, by the way. Yes, I do. She makes appearances at the Redux hacienda every three months or so; steals my ‘Alta Rica’ coffee, and the last of my chocolate Hob-Nobs; mutters some literary suggestions in so low and dis-interested a whisper I miss half of them; then slopes off back to Olympus, or Kensington or Chelsea, or S W 1 or wherever she has her pad these days, and I don’t see her for yonks afterwards. That perhaps explains why I tend to write and upload my efforts in fits and starts. I blame it all on my Muse.

By the way, I haven’t yet quite identified her in person yet. I mean, there were nine of the harrida—dear ladies, to begin with, weren’t there? With some joining the throng along the way, I believe. Anyway, let’s see, the choice is between Clio, Thalia, Erato, Euterpe, Polyhymnia, Calliope, Terpsichore, Urania, and Melpomene. And judging from my experience I can only say—what a group! The Wild Bunch had nothing on these dames, let me assure you. I thought at first, and for the longest time, I was being honoured by Clio: but that was a bust. Then I decided she must be Thalia; well, you would, wouldn’t you? But no, it was not to be. Now I just go on happily in a state of unknowing; probably the wisest course. These Muses can be so touchy, y’know. Fly off the handle at the slightest perceived insult or affront. One day she’s there, standing at your elbow complaining because you can’t write or type fast enough; then there’s a swirl of Classical garments, a haughty chill pervades the atmosphere, and she’s gone in a huff (though sometimes, just to make her statement all the more dramatic, she waits for a minute and a huff, as Groucho once said [he must have met her too] leaving an empty space where she stood, and where my imagination usually has its shake-down).

So, what does an industrious author do when faced with the greatest tragedy of an author’s working life—no plots? He (I’m talking here about me in the third tense. Yes, I know there ought to be a word in English which happily groups the female and the male together, but as there isn’t in real life so there isn’t in literary terms either—just leave it alone)—or she, scratches their head; sharpens a few pencils; makes a cup of coffee; stares blankly out the window; reads the daily paper for the sixth time; puts the television on and slumps out before daytime TV (God, don’t tell me there isn’t a Hell!); opens a well-thumbed cook-book at their favourite recipe and drools for half-an-hour, though they have no intention of ever actually making the dish; and then finally give up all hope and switch to painting, wood-work, sewing, or taking up the collection of street-bus numbers for a hobby.

But when He, She, They, are on a run (authors, writers, me, I mean)—what a great feeling! The words just burst from your imagination like water over Niagara. Everything in the plot fits perfectly; the characters know exactly what they’re doing; and before you know it you’ve completed a really good piece of work. Then comes the proud moment when you upload the story to your site of choice on the internet and then sit back and wait for comments that never come; because however much the reader likes your effort they’ll be double-damned on a one-way trip to Hades, Hell, Avernus, and The Great Deep Pit of Everlasting Fiery Damnation before they’ll so much as sit down and send a single word to you of praise, criticism, thanks, or a finely worded plea to give up writing and join the Democratic party.

There are young writers out there; mature writers (that’s me. I think I’m a Singularity, as they say in Physics [Who was that who just said “You’re something, at any rate!”?]); writers new to the fan-dom of their choice; established writers, who know all the dark secrets of fan-fiction production; and a plethora of other people who really ought to be doing something more useful for a living. It’s great to be part of a group, isn’t it?

Then come the hours of personal analysis when you try to delve into the stygian depths of you own mind, in a valiant but doomed attempt to understand yourself and your wish to foist—publish, that is,—fiction for the consternation—er, delight,—of the non-paying Public. I mean, what possible reason can there be for a perfectly rational person (I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here, you understand!) to want to read stories about fictional characters of limited appeal? Oh, that’s what the whole concept of Fictional Literature has been based on for hundreds, if not thousands, of years! I didn’t realise. Well! Well! You live and learn.

So, in fact, what the fan-fiction author is doing; what they are providing; what their reason d’etre amounts to, is intermingling the fictional with the even more fictional, ad infinitum—to produce a work so deeply imbued with the ambience of absolute fantasy, obfuscated from all hint of reality, that the happy reader can lose themselves in a world of the imagination completely at odds with the reality around them—for the few hours the story lasts, at any rate. A fine aspiration; one can’t argue with that; well, one could, but Hell, get a life and leave us to our simple enjoyments—go demand more rights for those hardy workers who put up all those ‘No Jaywalking’ signs just where you most need to cross the road, or sign a petition for the repeal of standing up to sing the National Anthem at the end of the evening show in cinemas across the country [What? That only happened in Britain, and it doesn’t happen anymore! Dear me, what a terrible loss. The country’s going to the dogs, mark my words].

And that brings us back—most serendipitously, I must admit—to the reason why I chose the pen-name ‘Phineas Redux’. You want to know, don’t you? Hey, kindly stop sniggering at the back, please. Well, I’m going to tell you anyway. I had just finished a volume of my favourite author (yes, Anthony Trollope. What’s that? Huh! Impertinence! You don’t know what you’re missing) when the thought suddenly cascaded, flew, dived, erupted, advanced, blazoned itself across the horizons of my waking thoughts. Oh, alright, enough with the flowery language—I had an idea. Satisfied? And that idea was essentially this—now focus, people, this’ll change your lives for the greater good forever, y’know. Hey, who opened the doors at the back of the auditorium? I thought I locked them? Those who’re leaving are gon’na miss a good thing—an’ I’ll be damned if I return your ticket-money, so there! OK, the reason I chose ‘Phineas Redux’ for my non-de-plume (that’s French, y’know) is because it— [Just a tick, everyone. I have to consult my Musical Director at this point. He and his five-piece band have been providing mood music during my lecture, y’see. Tommy! Hey, Tommy! I suppose, because the audience are now leaving in droves, falling over each other to abandon the theatre, you think it’s funny to strike up with ‘Nearer My God To Thee’? Well, I think it’s in very poor taste indeed. Why don’t you and the kids just bugger off to the ‘Lady & the Chakram’ over the road; it’s opening time, y’know.]

Where was I? Gosh, there’s hardly anyone left, for the greatest announcement in modern Literary History. So, anyway, I call myself ‘Phineas Redux’ because—Oh, I’m all alone in an empty, echoing chamber, with not a soul in sight. So much for the revival of interest in literature in the 21st century, I don’t think. Ah, wait a minute, an elderly bloke in a dirty yellow ankle-length dust-coat and a long-handled brush is sweeping up in the wings. He’ll do. Hoi! Hoi! Yes, you, my man! No, I can’t spare a dime. The reason I call myself ‘Phineas Redux’ is—Oh bother, he’s disappeared too. Didn’t think he had it in him to make that turn of speed. Oh well, if I can’t tell the paying Public—and it was such a low fee, too—I can at least tell the Gods on High. The reason I call myself ‘Phineas Redux’ is because—


~Phineas Redux~


A Music Concert by Phineas Redux
This is an Uberfic set in Great Britain in 1943. Zena Mathews and Gabrielle Parker, are both pilots and members of SOE—Special Operations Executive. They are on blackout detail on the Orkney Mainland, going round the outlying houses and farms. Then they sit in a deserted farm-house for a short time one night, reflecting on life; after which they attend a large entertainment party for the troops.
http://www.academyofbards.org/fanfic/p/phineasredux_amusiccondert.html

Tuesdays With Phineas Redux

My Rational 'Xena' World. Or maybe 'Rationale of'?




My view of the ‘Xena’ fantasy-world.

Looking for inspiration on the ‘Xena’ front I thought it might help if I listed the various aspects of the TV series plot-lines with which I am less than enamoured and would therefore not pursue in story form. Characters and story-lines are often interwoven, so I shall just declare my preferences as I come to each in turn; though I may very well be forgetting some important points or people. The following describes what, I suppose, might be called my interpretation of the ‘Xena’ world—

Joxer— Oh alright, he can stay—but he’ll have to butch up. His original incarnation is simply too naive and useless for words. And if you think you’re going to see a lot of him, think again.

Virgil, Joxer’s son— No. No, absolutely. No.

Cyrene, Xena’s mother, and her peculiar demise— Never happened. In my universe she is alive and well.

Lila, Gabrielle’s sister— She really must buck up and stop allowing her daughter to be kidnapped and taken as a harem member for North African warlords, while her parents are slaughtered. Not that such an instance, in my view, ever actually occurred, either. She does eventually have a daughter Sarah, but this girl has a conventional life, never meeting Gurkhan.

Gurkhan— Never existed.

Xena must be much more accepting of the Amazons, as they of her. The back-story, of her earlier warlord deprivations against the Amazons, I choose to ignore and take as never having happened.

Xena’s back-story in Japa— Never happened, her only history is with Chin and Lao Ma.

The last two episodes and Xena’s demise— Never happened.

Xena being nasty to Gabrielle— The Warrior Princess is never, that’s never, physically nor mentally brutal to Gabrielle.

The Conqueror— There are those who enjoy this manifestation of Xena’s cruel aspect. I am not one of them. This twist of Fate in Xena’s life does not exist in my Xena-verse.

Musical episodes— Ha! Ha! Don’t talk to me about musical episodes!

Aphrodite— What a gal. I prefer her Valley-girl incarnation, especially in inter-actions with Gabrielle. And, of course, she’s always good for annoying Ares.

Ares— He can stay the way he is, though I’m not enraptured by his single-minded focus on destruction and war for its own sake. I’d prefer to tone his thinking and actions down somewhat.

Callisto— I’ve thought long and hard about this lady, and her ways. My conclusions are that I’d use her in stories—but only in her non-supernatural human form. The mad psycho, certainly—but not a semi-goddess.

Alti— I rather like her. But she would need to appear rarely, and then to some important purpose.

Gabrielle— I like Gabrielle’s naivety in her early association with Xena. This gives latitude for all sorts of humorous scenarios. But I much prefer the blonde toughened Amazon Queen, with her sais and positive attitude. It is this latter Gabrielle whom I most like to write about.

The Rift. Where Xena and Gabrielle famously fall out big-time— Never happened. (OK, OK, this is my imaginative response to dire problems. And I say it never happened, so there!).

Hope— Gabrielle never had that unfortunate meeting with Dahak, so this means her daughter never came on the scene either.

Solan— He does exist, but was never raised by centaurs; instead being sent to an old friend who lives on a remote Grecian farm.

Centaurs— There are no centaurs in my ‘Xena’ world.

Eve/Livia— Who?

Amazons— These exist in my Greece, and other parts of the world too. They are grouped together in tribes and associated bands with Queens as leaders. Gabrielle being the over-all leader of one of these larger groups of tribes.

Supernatural entities— I am reluctant to use these with any regularity. I prefer the actual physical world, with all its social problems, to activate and be the driving forces of my stories.

The Gods— They do exist in my ‘Xena’ world; though perhaps re-acting with humanity, and Xena and Gabrielle, rather less than in the TV series. I also acknowledge the existence of other Gods’ domains—the Norse Gods; Egyptian Gods; Chinese & Japanese Gods, etc.

25 year Ice-Tomb Gap— Rubbish. OK folks, we have a problem here. Xena and Gabrielle co-exist with Julius Caesar—who we all know was assassinated on the Ides of March 44 BC. Yet they also had intimate personal contact with Caligula, who kicked the old tin bucket in 41 AD. An 85 year time span—impressive! That’s not taking into account those early episodes where the gals met Homer and were present at the Siege of Troy! Yes, yes, the historical time-line in ‘Xena’ is a hopeless jumble. So what’s the answer? —

The Gods’ as Time Machines— The Gods, of whichever Pantheon happens to be currently operating, can send Xena and Gabrielle into different time periods at their will—problem solved.

The Indian Cycle; Dahak; and the Eli Cycle— None of these entities, persons, or prophets ever engaged with our heroines.

All Those Damn Crucifixions— Not one ever happened, or will happen. In my ‘Xena’ world neither Xena nor Gabrielle ever experienced, or will experience, this form of execution.

The End— If you’re thinking ‘Friend in Need’ here think again; go and wash your mouth out with Hudson’s Soap, and do try to be rational. The last we see of them, in reality in the TV series (I admit my imagination is working overtime here—so what?) is of them both trudging ankle-deep through the Egyptian desert sands trying to find the Bent Pyramid (don’t ask!). Gabrielle is determined to have her way, in that it bears south-south west; while Xena knows perfectly well (she’s almost certain) it bears sou’east by east, but try telling that to an Amazon! And so we leave the happy couple, bickering loudly as the sand gets in all those places it shouldn’t; while both gals are rapidly losing their tempers together. Ah, happy days!

~Phineas Redux~


On Convoy Patrol by Phineas Redux
The eighth in my on-going 'Mathews & Parker' series. Zena Mathews and Gabrielle Parker are requisitioned into going on a submarine patrol, complete with depth charges.
http://www.academyofbards.org/fanfic/p/phineasredux_onconvoypatrol.html

Tuesdays With Phineas Redux

Weapons of Xena and Gabrielle

The sais used by Gabrielle from series 5 onwards are, in fact, a defensive rather than an offensive weapon. The two curved hilts were primarily designed for catching the blades of opposing daggers or swords and thrusting aside or breaking them. The sai varied in design depending on its particular use. The long thin blade is actually a prong, usually blunt-ended. They can however, with enough force, be lethal. They are usually used, as with Gabrielle, in pairs. I think there is enough evidence to support the view that Gabrielle’s sais were sharp-edged and pointed, making them a rare form of dagger. In a late TV episode, series 5, ‘Seeds of Faith’ , Gabrielle is shown in a desert landscape throwing her sais first at a dead tree trunk, then at Ares. Here, plainly, the weapons are sharp-tipped like daggers. Again, as with Japanese katana, there is a detailed breakdown of the weapon's parts.

Sai—

As with almost all weapons in the Middle & Far East there is a highly complex form of martial arts, known as silat, associated with the learning of the weapon. These dance-like movements and techniques would, in my opinion, fit in well with Gabrielle’s character.

Gabrielle never had much association with swords (ignoring the last two TV episodes). Her early and, it could be averred, major weapon was the wooden staff. This might be looked on as a piece of humorous fantasy by the producers, but has a solid base in historical fact. The quarterstaff was still a popular weapon in mediaeval times, being associated with the legend of Robin Hood and Maid Marian. The bo is also a staff weapon used in feudal Japan; so there is adequate historical precedent for Gabrielle’s use of a form of this weapon.

Quarterstaff—

bo

Xena’s sword is generally taken to be a form of the Roman gladius, though rather longer bladed. It could, however, be more realistically described as an actual Greek xiphos which with its leaf-pattern blade it seems to more closely resemble. I believe that apart from the last two episodes neither Xena nor Gabriele had any contact with the Japanese katana. However, as this weapon is so firmly associated with them via these episodes, it would be right to cover its details. The katana is a traditional Japanese sword, worn by the ‘samurai’ class of feudal Japan, so also known as a ‘samurai’ sword. It is famous for its highly tempered curving blade; it being primarily a slashing weapon rather than a thrusting or cutting weapon as were European swords.

Swords—

Then comes the infamous chakram, with which Xena could literally perform miracles. A hollow circle of flat steel with a sharpened outer edge, it originates from India; the Chinese Wind & Fire wheels being hand-held melee weapons with sharp protruding blades, wielded in close combat. Although chakrams are highly aerodynamic they, unlike Xena’s weapon, do not operate like boomerangs. In flight they do not curve back to the thrower, especially not after having hit their target.

In early episodes Xena was seen to use a fire-blowing technique—whereby she would put some inflammable liquid in her mouth, hold a lighted torch in front of her face, and blow the liquid through the flames. Not an action to be re-created at home, kiddies! This, rather serendipitously, brings us on to the nearest equivalent of ancient times—Greek Fire. This was a naphtha/resinous liquid substance whose ingredients were such a closely guarded secret they are now lost; and have become the source of much speculation, as is the method of firing. It sounds, from the Wiki article, just like something Xena would have been well experienced in the use of.

So that brings us to the close of this short treatise on the weapons used by Xena and Gabrielle in their adventures. Oh, I forgot—frying-pans!

The use and practice of the frying-pan as a deadly weapon is first attested in the writings of some of the now lost Ancient Greek and Roman authorities.

Yes, this ordinary element of the modern kitchen was indeed known to the Ancient Greek and Roman matron (I think we can safely say that the pater familias of the house did not participate in its normal use!). At first used merely for its common or household purpose, enterprising members of the Greek Amazons soon found a much more formidable use for it. By the time of Hellenistic Greece it was a firm favourite in battles (usually accompanied, when thrown at an advancing enemy, by the chilling war-cry “Take that, you bas. . rd!”). However, with the invention of gunpowder, this magnificent weapon fell out of military use, reverting back to its nominal employment in the making of omelettes—such are the vagaries of history!

~Phineas Redux~



The Ring of Brodgar by Phineas Redux
This is an Uberfic set in Scapa Flow in 1943. Zena Mathews and Gabrielle Parker, are both pilots and members of SOE—Special Operations Executive. The two women explore a number of Neolithic sites on the Orkney mainland, and have a strange experience.
http://www.academyofbards.org/fanfic/p/phineasredux_theringofbrodgar.html

Tuesdays With Phineas Redux

Xena in the Afterlife

Can any reader actually recall how many times Xena travelled, even for the smallest amount of time, into supernatural realms? Be they landscapes made up for the occasion by someone like Ares, at a moment when he was having one of his numerous hissy-fits; to the several times Xena explored the boundaries of various Lands of the Dead; to those times when she was wounded or ill and flickered from the real, with Gabrielle, to the supernatural and back again. And yes, this does include the last two episodes of series 6 (spits contemptuously), as well as those somewhat confusing episodes centred around ‘The Ides of March’, ‘Fallen Angel’, and ‘Chakram’; plus the ‘India’ episode-arc, resulting in Gabrielle for a time losing her fighting mojo.

Let’s see if I can list them, more or less in order. Series 1, ‘Dreamworker’—Gabrielle is taken to a fantasy land where she has to fight for her life, till Xena arrives to save her—Whew, close call! Series 2, ‘Remember Nothing’. “Ah”, you’ll say. “That was a time-travel story, backwards.” Wrong, it was Alternative History, so it fits my criteria (who’s writing this essay? You, or me? Right, just don’t forget it!) Then comes ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’. Now that’s a story after my own heart. Rock music, vampires, and Gabrielle rocking down (Oh Gods, how many times have I rewound that part of the DVD!). Completed, of course, by Gabrielle’s luscious neck-bite on the tall dark one! (Ooooh! Sorry, just having a, er, moment). Where were we? Oh, yes. Series 3, ‘Been There, Done That’. I know ‘what goes around comes around’—but, so many times? I really began to worry that my DVD player had developed a fault, like a record player jumping the track.

Then comes ‘The Deliverer’ and ‘Gabrielle’s Hope’. Seriously disturbed scenario’s, in my view. This is where it all began to go to Hades and Damnation. But let’s not get bogged down in existentialist criticism; instead we soldier on. ‘The Quill is Mightier’, Ha! Ha!, there’s an episode I enjoy. Has anyone else had trouble pausing the player at just the right moment, with the three Gabrielle’s? I mean, it’s so difficult to actually see anything! And then comes ‘The Bitter Suite’; perhaps the culminating artistic achievement of the whole 6 series?

We jump forward to series 4, and ‘Adventures in the Sin Trade I & II’. I know a lot of viewers have some reservations about these episodes, but I thoroughly enjoyed them. The barren landscape; the atmosphere of being adrift in a moral world that had lost it way; the Amazon scenario’s; the whole supernatural element which, for once, seemed entirely appropriate to the story: all these contributed, I thought, to a classy drama. And, to add the finishing touch, Xena was more than half out of her mind for the duration; what more could an avid ‘Xena’ fan want?

‘Paradise Found’, for some reason I find myself continually returning to this episode. The colours are brilliant; the settings are perfectly achieved; the conversational and personal inter-changes (I nearly said intercourse, but who’d take that in its early meaning?) between Xena and Gabrielle are absolutely spot on. And Gabrielle is stunningly gorgeous throughout. Scenes to drool over—Gabrielle in the steaming bath, her head rising above the water’s surface; Xena in the bath, surrounded by little floating candles and flowers; Gabrielle doing her morning calisthenics, while the camera glides sensuously round her; Gabrielle being given a back massage by the Warrior Princess; Gabrielle lying on the ying yang bed, seen from above, with Xena on the floor doing pull-ups; Gabrielle turning into a blue statue (why do I find that peculiarly erotic? Should I be mentioning this in public?); Xena going doolally, and turning into the woman you most do not want to go out on an evening date with; Gabrielle naked, back in the cave once more, searching for her clothes while Xena protects her decency. Ah, happy days. Now, if only all the episodes had been like that!

However, to return to the business in hand. Series 4, ‘Devi’, ‘Between the Lines’, ‘The Way’; here we go again, Gabrielle becomes embroiled on a religious path which threatens to absorb her every particle of Being. Cue exotic Gods, supernatural battles, and the triumph of our fighting ladies over several Religious Entities. There were many voices raised at the time to the effect that this was ‘a step too far’; but, whatever, life goes on—it’s only a TV drama; butch up, or take up cross-stitching.

Then, at the borders of series 4 to 5, comes the ‘Endgame’—‘Chakram’ episodes. Heaven, St Michael (who always appears to be having a bad day, but then who wouldn’t dealing with Xena?). Hades, or is it Hell, and Callisto changing from everyone’s favourite psycho-babe to a wimpy nonentity in a white sheet and the most appalling sugary smile ever to be captured on camera. Horrors! Let’s swiftly move on, averting our eyes as we go.

Series 5, ‘Them Bones, Them Bones’, The Land of the Dead; Alti, Xena drinking blood and going to the realm of Alti, to have the crap kicked out of her. Gabrielle drinking blood and going to the realm of Alti, to have the crap kicked out of her. Xena returning to face-off Alti, or should that be ‘everything off’ down to the bone for them both? Now that’s a strange little episode.

The author at this juncture takes a look at his hurdle, walks back some yards for a good long run-up; speeds down the track and jumps, legs high in air, over—‘Married With Fishsticks’—landing cleanly on the other side by a large margin; Whoopee, a new world record!

Series 6, ‘The Haunting of Amphipolis’. An old abandoned Inn; spooky corridors; hanging cobwebs and piles of dirt; threatening Demons; and an underground bathing pool full of green gunge and scrabbling ‘things’! Oo-er! Gabrielle going for the underwater breath-holding record; then, when Xena wasn’t looking, turning into the most gorgeous demon. Whaor! Didn’t Gabrielle look great as a demon? She had such a perfect snarl.

And, of course, the last two episodes. Hi-Ho, isn’t Life just a bummer, when you’re least expecting it? Xena comes over all ‘I have the sins of the World on my shoulders, an’ I’m guilty as Hell!’. She’s conned by a nasty self-seeking baggage named Akemi; brow-beaten by a shaggy Japa seer who blames her for an accident that could have happened to anyone (OK, so a whole town burned down with the loss of 40,000 lives; happens every day, get over it). Xena lets herself be topped (in every sense of the word) by the least convincing baddie in the history of the whole 6 series; then leaves Gabrielle to get on with the business herself, only offering moral asides at inappropriate moments which are no earthly use to the Amazon warrior; and finally works on Gabrielle’s conscience to stop her bringing the Warrior Princess back to life, when there was no logical reason why she shouldn’t have. And so Gabrielle sails off alone into the sunset, towards Egypt. But don’t cry; after all, what does Egypt have that’s useful? Yep, that’s right—the most powerful set of Gods in the Ancient pantheon. Gods who are wholly focussed on the Land of the Dead; with potent spells and incantations for the immortality and continuation of the soul and body. Obvious surmise?—Xena’s coming back, or Gabrielle’ll know the reason why.

I’ve skipped one or two episodes of interest, no doubt; but my ink’s running out, my goose-feather quill is blunt, and my scroll’s nearly full. Oh, here’s a scroll-shop. What’s that, my good man? You have no fresh scrolls left? A young blonde Amazon woman with green eyes, short skirt, wonderfully defined six-pack, and a snarky attitude, just bought your entire stock. Damn, these Amazons are so pushy. She’s heading over to the Amazon nation, eh? The author at this point turns about-face and points in the opposite direction to the Amazons. What’s down that road? Ah, Scythia! Well, beggars can’t be choosers. What’s that, shop-owner? Why don’t I visit the Amazon nation? Have you ever lived with an Amazon? Well, I have. Scythia, here I come.

~Phineas Redux~

'A Rainy Sunday' By Phineas Redux
Summary:— This is an Uberfic set in Great Britain in 1943. Zena Mathews and Gabrielle Parker, are both pilots and members of SOE—Special Operations Executive. It is Sunday, and they struggle for something with which to occupy themselves.
http://www.academyofbards.org/fanfic/p/phineasredux_arainysunday.html

Tuesdays With Phineas Redux

'Xena' Stories--My Literary Influences


Apart from the visual input of the ‘Xena, Warrior Princess’ TV series, the actual literary influences of my writing stretch back some considerable way. I don’t want to sound condescending at all, but as a boy I enjoyed the short stories of Rudyard Kipling. Primarily those contained in ‘Puck of Pook’s Hill’ and ‘Rewards and Fairies’. These included historical material about several periods in English history, including that of the Romans. Then, as a young teenager, I bought a copy of the complete short stories of H G Wells. Whatever is said about him as a man and his numerous love affairs, he could certainly write a fine SF or Fantasy story. I was particularly impressed by stories like ‘In the Avu Observatory’, ‘The Remarkable Case of Davidson’s Eyes’, and ‘The New Accelerator’. The first a tale of a strange monster in Borneo; the second a curious condition whereby a man is bodily in a laboratory, but sees with his eyes landscapes on the other side of the world; the third a comedic story of a scientist who discovers a means of living at several times the normal speed of the rest of humanity, and the problems this causes him.

I may say here that I developed an interest in buying various volumes of short stories, and also what are called ‘omnibus’ volumes, at that period of my literary interests. They were remarkably cheap; they brought a large number of an author’s works together in one volume; and they saved me searching bookshops for their individual incarnations; especially as many of the authors I liked dated from the late 19th century or the first couple of decades of the 20th century. A year or so later I bought another complete set of short stories, this time by the author Saki, Hector Hugh Munro. His short stories were highly comic, yet imbued with an underlying cruelty which fascinated me. Stories such as ‘Sredni Vashtar’, ‘Reginald on Besetting Sins’, ‘The Reticence of Lady Anne’, ‘The Music on the Hill’, ‘The Open Window’, and ‘The Schartz-Metterklume Method’, all intrigued and delighted me.

At this time I was rolling through my teenage years, this being the 1960’s (Yes, I was there, and I can remember them!). I was, of course, infatuated with the work of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. In those years the publisher John Murray printed his works in several omnibus volumes. They were well-produced in hardback on good paper, but only cost £1.50p, about $2, each. For around £9, or about $12, you could buy 6 volumes comprising almost everything he had ever written. All the Sherlock Holmes stories; all the Brigadier Gerard stories; all the Professor Challenger stories; and all the many short stories. They all had a great impact and influence on the way I now write ‘Xena’ stories.

But all is not yet over, because I very rapidly discovered O Henry sometime in my late teens. What can I say about him? The King of the short story. No-one else has ever written like him, nor will again. I think ‘Cabbages and Kings’ is his undoubted masterpiece. But also such stories as ‘The Gift of the Magi’, ‘The Last Leaf’, and ‘The Passing of Black Eagle’, all astonished me with their sharp focus on people’s motivations and ways of encountering life, and triumphing over its difficulties.

Returning to British influences, when I was in my early twenties I came across ‘Sapper’, or Herman Cyril McNeile to give his true name. He was the famous author of stories starring ‘Bulldog Drummond’. There has been a great deal said over the years, in literary criticism circles, about this character’s perceived fascist nature and brutal methods of dealing with people he did not like. But I must say, from my reading of the stories of Drummond and indeed the other short stories of ‘Sapper’, they seem simply good loud raucous, somewhat silly, adventures. They didn’t go in for delicacy; if there was a shut door Drummond would kick it in; if there was a villain in the offing Drummond would invariably heave half a brick at him; if there was a need for careful forethought and planning Drummond would collect his gang, smash wholesale through all opposition, and beat the living daylights out of the bad guys. Sterling stuff!

I also discovered, much to my surprise, that there were other detectives than Sherlock Holmes. In my dust-strewn expeditions through the dirtier and less frequented aisles of second-hand bookshops I found books, untouched for decades, containing magnificent feats of deduction by such persons as ‘Dr. Thorndyke’, by R Austin Freeman; stories about ‘Mr. Fortune’, by H C Bailey; ‘Lady Molly of Scotland Yard’ by Baroness Orczy, the same who produced the ‘Scarlet Pimpernel’ books and also ‘The Old Man in the Corner’, more deductive tales. Then there were the lesser, but still thoroughly interesting, amateur detectives such as short stories about ‘Peter Jackson’, by Gilbert Frankau; or those short tales featuring ‘Joe Quinney’, by Horace Annesley Vachell (yes, he was a Harrow and Sandhurst man). Also Rafael Sabatini, the King of the swashbucklers (author of ‘Scaramouche’, and highly delightful stories about the semi-pirate ‘Captain Blood’).

Then, on a more serious note, there were the stories of Henry James, Edith Wharton, Katherine Mansfield, and Sarah Orne Jewett. All writing in a manner which captivated my imagination. I must also, of course, admit to reading with avid enjoyment the stories of Mark Twain and Bret Harte.

These authors may explain my method of writing ‘Xena’ stories. I tend more to the visual, than the inner psychology of the characters, when I write. Incident and action, over penetrating mental insights, tend to be the mainstays of my stories. I like to present two persona’s, and follow them through a series of exploits without very much changing their view of the world they live in, or tampering with their general moral code. Perhaps I’m just not intellectual enough for that? Though I must say that for me reading Henry James is one of the joys of life.

These are only a few of the literary influences which have soaked into my soul over the last decades. Various other 19th century, and earlier and later, authors have intrigued, delighted, amused, or kept me rapt to the last page. And, yes, I have read around half of Anthony Trollope’s works, including most of the epic door-stoppers; a magnificent writer far better than Dickens, in my biased view.

So, these are some of the authors who have influenced the way I write ‘Xena’ stories. If there are any faults (as there must be) in my stories, then they are all my own. But if there are any good qualities to be seen in them, then these are attributable wholly to those who influenced me in my salad days.

~Phineas Redux~

Story Recommendationm:

The Long Trip By Phineas Redux
Summary:— This is an Uberfic set in Great Britain in 1943. Zena Mathews and Gabrielle Parker, both pilots and members of SOE—Special Operations Executive, find themselves transporting a Colonel Warden from the North Atlantic to Southern England.
http://www.academyofbards.org/fanfic/p/phineasredux_thelongtrip.html

Tuesdays With Phineas Redux

The 'Xena' Story, as a Four-Wheeled Vehicle


We are not on the higher levels of intellectual experience here, although we will eventually arrive at those glorified heights. More in the oily confines of the local garage, with all sorts of tools surrounding us; the vehicle under construction, or repair, being the ‘story’.

The owner (writer) who brings a story into the garage should start at the very beginning, with the merest chassis on which the bodywork of the story’s setting and characters must be built. This chassis reflects the bare idea of the story; the setting, characters, or even merely a single scene. The engine to be fitted represents the genre of story. Whether it be mainline classic, uber, Conqueror, semi-original, or purely original. The side panels and styling represent the plot.

Then comes the model. Many drivers (authors) prefer a sturdy little town or city runabout. Nothing fancy, just adequate for those seriously congested streets involving heavy gas usage and wear and tear on the gears and brakes. Others enjoy the comfort of a four-door saloon, with plenty of luggage space in the boot, even if the engine leaves a little to be desired. It’s smooth-running, easy on gas, and has space enough for the kids on the school-run, as well as those Saturday shopping expeditions to the mall. Other drivers (writers) may like the kudos of a low, wire-wheeled sleek raceabout, with an evil engine that can burn rubber at horrifying speeds. Yet others (steady authors, with at least one long ‘Xena’ series behind them) may go for the SUV, or as it is called in Great Britain the 4x4 off-road model. These range from little delicate machines, which look as if they are only pretending to be SUV’s; to the heavy-set, massive ex-military Hummer-like vehicles which look as if they could take on a tank, and win.

All these represent varying kinds and types of story. It is the job of the driver/owner (author), working by themselves or with others (beta-readers/editors) to construct the vehicle (story) properly. Some prefer automatic transmission, giving a smooth run; the chapters of the story running easily in a free-flowing manner until the end. Others enjoy the old traditional manual gearbox lever, with its necessarily sometimes awkward clunky exchange from one gear (chapter/part) to the other. These all represent differing methods of delivering the story; whether in short chapters, long chapters; sections; or in a continuous stream-of-consciousness. There are many car models (story types) available, with various features and extra’s, for every taste.

Some prefer their engine to be standard grade, 0-60mph in 11 seconds. Others enjoy the thrill of a power plant which can rocket the passengers (the readers, may the Gods protect them) from 0-110mph in 7 seconds. This reflects the difference between a slow romantic tale, and an adventure packed with incident and action, never letting up on the tension for a single moment.

The vehicle make holds an important place in this theory of the novel. Most will carry on with their long-established and appreciated national representatives, Ford, Chevrolet, Chrysler; happy in their personal traditions. Others will feel the need for experimentation, going for foreign makes of higher standards or exotic style. Many will prefer to write the Hyundai type of story; set in foreign parts, but on a realistic basis in the ‘Lands We Know’. Others will step out into the unrestricted savannahs of the purely exotic; the Maserati; the Lamborghini; the Rolls-Royce; the Aston Martin. All these types of story are quite feasible and acceptable, if written properly.

Others may be more comfortable within the constraints of the vintage or classic. Pontiac, Lincoln, Buick, Oldsmobile. Perhaps straying, with a delicate toes-in-the-water precaution, into the erotic boundaries of an Edsel, Cadillac, Plymouth, DeSoto, or even Stutz Bearcat. These all represent the diverse possibilities any story can encompass, at the driver’s (author’s) discretion. Just as the aspiring vehicle owner can visit numerous dealerships, before making their final choice; so the author can experiment with varying styles, settings, types, and methods of writing.

And the end result, after the completed or repaired vehicle rolls out from the oily smelly confines of the noisy garage? This can be anything from a dusty, rusty, broken down Ford pick-up from 1948; to a modern bright red Chrysler 200 convertible. That is, a run of the mill standard boring classic tale based on the plots and episodes of the ‘Xena’ TV series; to a rollicking no-holds-barred sex romp of the imagination, featuring our favourite happy duo in all sorts of revealing and highly enjoyable frolics. The author’s imagination knows no limits; and the vehicle they eventually choose to drive, for the edification of the passengers who decide to accompany them on their journeys, will reflect their hopes, choices, desires, and needs for the ‘Xena, Warrior Princess’ stories they most enjoy. As Henry James said, in his ‘The Art of Fiction’,—

‘Art lives upon discussion, upon experiment, upon curiosity, upon variety of attempt, upon the exchange of views and the comparison of standpoints . . . The successful application of any art is a delightful spectacle, but the theory too is interesting; and though there is a great deal of the latter without the former I suspect there has never been a genuine success that has not had a latent core of conviction. . . . The only reason for the existence of a novel is that it does attempt to represent life. . . . Literature should be either instructive or amusing, and there is in many minds an impression that these artistic preoccupations, the search for form, contribute to neither end, interfere indeed with both. . . That, I think, represents the manner in which the latent thought of many people who read novels as an exercise in skipping would explain itself if it were to become articulate. . . The execution belongs to the author alone; it is what is most personal to him, and we measure him by that. The advantage, the luxury, as well as the torment and responsibility of the novelist, is that there is no limit to what he may attempt as an executant. . . ’

The End

~Phineas Redux~

Story Recommendationm:

A Brush with the Enemy By Phineas Redux
This is an Uberfic set in Great Britain in 1942. Zena Mathews, a young New Zealand woman, and her navigator Gabrielle Parker work as pilots for part of SOE—Special Operations Executive, where all operations are top secret. On a flying mission they meet an enemy aircraft.
http://www.academyofbards.org/fanfic/p/phineasredux_abrushwiththeenemy.html

Tuesdays With Phineas Redux

'Xena Redux', or should that be 'Redivivus'?

Pre-title opening sequence, short quick edits—Gabrielle and Xena go to Japa, where Xena is killed. After many adventures Gabrielle, full of sorrow, goes off on her own to carry on Xena’s work. Then Gabrielle wakes up at their campsite in the sunshine of a new day beside a rivulet in the Grecian countryside, and standing beside her is the tall dark form of Xena: it was all a bad dream. Que TV opening titles—‘Xena, Warrior Princess’, Series Seven.

Japa never happened. The back-story that Xena gave for her actions in Japa was all fantasy. It was a dream, and now Gabrielle has Xena with her to go on happily into the future. Only this time things will be different.

No more bandying around making faint hints about their sexuality. The duo are a duo from now on, enjoying their sexuality and partnership openly; within reason, of course. No more grotesque episodes like ‘Fishsticks’. No more musical episodes. No more chasing badly-acted warlords across the steppes. No more hilarious episodes where Gabrielle falls in love with some dude from the sticks. No more over-the-top episodes where mad Gods take the warrior women to fantastic landscapes to battle unknown terrors, just on the Gods’ whim. No more anachronistic meetings with various Roman Emperors. No twenty-five year ice gap. No Eve/Livia. No Eli wannabe’s. Absolutely no more crucifixions. And no more heart-wrenching story-arcs where Xena breaks with Gabrielle, or Gabrielle breaks with Xena, for long periods filled with angst, horror, despair, and tragedy. In fact, everything from now on is going to be rosy.

In Series Seven the story lines will be those of a serial. That is, not a series. The difference being that the same plot, characters, and purpose follow through the entire twenty-one episodes, until the final satisfying climax is reached. Although there will be moments when separate escapades side-track the women warriors, during the course of the wider adventure. There may be tears, smiles, and narrow escapes, along the way; but in the end all will come right for our happy duo.

Ares’ activities, and the actions of most of the other Gods, will have to be toned down or even dispensed with. Joxer will appear, but in a slightly more realistic and serious characterisation. Most stories will be more reality based, than formally; but the same madcap atmosphere will remain, no matter what Xena and Gabrielle get up to. There will be fewer Uber ventures; but these will concentrate solely on Mel and Janice, who will have a short story-arc to themselves.

Gabrielle will be the blonde short-haired Amazon Queen, with expertise and capabilities almost equalling Xena. She will have lost that earlier fear and horror of killing people, which motivated her in her innocent youth; but will still be more controlled in this regard than Xena. Gabrielle will still have a dress sense to die for. Xena will no longer look down on, or deprecate, her colleague’s abilities; but regard her as an equal partner.

The stories will be stronger, and better written. The sets will be bigger and more expensive. There will be money to afford huge crowds of extra’s. It will all be shot in 16:9, on HD equipment with Blu-ray definition. The series will continue to be made in New Zealand; though with expeditions to other worldwide settings, as the story-line requires. There will be one sole Director throughout the series, thus ensuring a smooth continuity; unlike former series where the numerous Directors only succeeded in watering down the strength of the underlying ambience and concept within the series.

Of course, both the original stars of the series will return in triumph; taking the show to greater heights of success than it had ever achieved before. There will be at least two spin-off shows; ‘Mel & Janice’, and ‘Gabrielle, Amazon Queen’; both going on to individual success. There will be a ‘Xena’ movie which, like the Bond or Bourne franchises, is internationally acclaimed; sanctioning numerous follow-ups. And, of course, there will be frantically awaited, and equally successful, TV Series Eight & Series Nine, etc, ad infinitum. In fact, there really isn’t any reason why the show doesn’t then carry on forever, gaining awards and critical acclaim with each succeeding series!

*

“Aaarh! The sun’s bright this morning.” Phineas wakes up, groggily as usual. “Yaaawn! Another day, another dollar, I suppose. —Oh Gods! I’ve been dreaming again! Oh, damn!”

~Phineas Redux~

Story Recommendation:

The Shetland Bus By Phineas Redux
This is an Uberfic set in Great Britain in 1942. Zena Mathews, a young New Zealand woman, and her navigator Gabrielle Parker now work as pilots for a secret British Government organisation, part of SOE—Special Operations Executive. They fly on a mission involving fishing-boats; secret meetings out in the North Sea; spies; gun-running; and difficulties in piloting their Supermarine Walrus.
http://www.academyofbards.org/fanfic/p/phineasredux_theshetlandbus.html

Tuesdays With Phineas Redux

Xena: Quibbles, Nitpicks, Cavils, & Niggles


Does anyone remember the episode of ‘Xena, Warrior Princess’ where Gabrielle had thrown away her staff, I think it was just after the ‘India’ cycle, and taken to attacking bad guys with fine powder blown into their faces from a set of pan pipes? Oh dear, oh dear! I even recall thinking at the time, as I watched the episode in stunned disbelief, “This is the pits. What that script-writer needs is a really good enema. Things can only get better from now on!”.

Then within a few more episodes, the Amazon warrior with her sais was born. Talk about a turn-around. I take it that there is absolutely no chance Gabrielle’s character, of that pan-pipe playing period, will ever re-surface in a work of fan-fiction? (that’s a plea, not a question!).

Talking of pan-pipes, there’s also the episode (come on, you know the one!) where they are walking through a small gorge, only to be faced by a gang of dead-beats intent on making them pay to pass; using a wagon loaded with logs or something as a road-block. The point being that Gabrielle, as we first catch a glimpse of the gorgeous gal (OK! OK!, I was younger then. Considerably younger! And yes, I love alliteration) is busy blowing a delightful ditty on some pan-pipes. If you call the fact that her lips remained about a foot away from the musical instrument at all times actually playing it? Not to mention that the tune we heard was completely out of synch with her lip movements! What we are talking here is a fiasco.

Then, in relation to the ‘India’ episodes, a small question. Does anyone recall that for the duration of the cycle, I’m speaking from memory here, Xena had her hair drawn back? So her forehead was constantly visible for the first time; giving her, I thought, a remarkably intellectual look which seemed to change her whole personality?

I know, I know, a quibble. But the world is made up of quibbles. Apropos of which, what about all those times we see the ladies sitting at their camp-fire either in the evening or morning? That wondrously well-maintained camp and fire. All mod con’s, in fact. Rolls of blankets enough to have stocked a medium-sized merchant’s shop. Bundles of saddle-bags enough to equip a squadron of cavalry. Pots and pans and frying-pans (Gods, I know—frying-pans. 101 Things to do with a frying-pan. I think Xena and Gabrielle covered them all). It didn’t matter where they were, desert, forest, plain, mountain; or the season, hot or cold, they always had enough equipment to make a really good camp—along with there always being enough twigs and sticks to start a bonfire. Why were their pack-horse trains never seen? I think we should be told.

Then, in the early episodes, how did Gabrielle keep up with the horse-riding Warrior Princess? I only ask. There’s Xena, as happy as a lark, thundering across the tundra on Argo going full belt for the horizon as if the IRS were after her; and Gabrielle, happily sauntering along in her long ankle-length skirt and swinging her trusty staff, always making it to the important dramatic scene alongside her dangerous companion. What are we talking here? Time-shifts? Worm-holes? Or did Xena go on a 50 mile trek sideways; only to return the way she had come, to meet the blonde-haired one a mile and a half from where she had left the walking tourist? This needs an explanation—I’m waiting?

Then there is the Curious Question of Gabrielle’s Horse! When, as an Amazon warrior, Blondie was finally allowed the dignity of owning her own horse just exactly which horse was it? Was it the same horse from then on? I think not. It changed colour. It changed height. It changed personality, from an insipid nonentity to a high-bred ‘bite your head off as soon as look at you’ mustang. And in some later episodes Gabrielle had a horse, whichever it was at the time; while in other’s she was horseless once again, for no discernible or logical reason. I mean, what was going on there?

And finally, Gabrielle’s fighting abilities. I speak principally of her latter capability of using her sword or sais. In some fights she appears to be a pacifist; fighting with the flat of her sword-blade, or more often with the reversed handles of her sais; apparently content to give her opponents some really nasty bruises. Then in other fights she’s as mad as a march hare, sticking Romans, dead-beats, banditti, warlords, and assorted others, in their guts right up to the hilt; and getting covered in blood while she strides of, snarling, looking for her next victim. I mean, what are we to think?

And then, of course, there are the numerous times Gabrielle hauled Xena’s immobile, wounded, fevered, or just plain dead, body over vast distances and steppes to revive her; while Missy Xena, in the last two episodes (I can’t bear to name them) simply turns on her heart-mate and blithely says “Oops, I’ve been a bad girl. Goodbye, Gabrielle, forever”, and saunters off to her death—literally leaving Gabrielle to pick up the pieces, but not before having to single-handedly face off a samurai with her katana. So much for soul-mates and everlasting love!

Bah! Grumble! Quibble! Humbug! And “Oh Gods, I do not believe it! That didn’t really just happen, did it?” And there’s probably more, but I’ve run out of patience. This is why I write fan-fiction—to right all the wrongs off-loaded onto our favourite duo by those idiot script-writers. Ah, me.

~Phineas Redux~


Story Recommendationm:

'An Aerial Taxi' By Phineas Redux
This is an Uberfic set in Great Britain in 1942. Zena Mathews, a young New Zealand woman, and her navigator Gabrielle Parker work as pilots in the British Air Transport Auxiliary. They are taken on as members of a secret Government organisation, part of SOE—Special Operations Executive, operating beyond the Civil Service radar where no records are kept.
http://www.academyofbards.org/fanfic/p/phineasredux_anaerialtaxi.html

Tuesdays With Phineas Redux

A new segment is starting today. "Tuesdays With Phineas Redux" will highlight Phineas' insights into all things Xena. It will be posted every Tuesday in weekly installments. Here is the first installment.



The Perfect Xena Story

—Will have to tick several boxes. It must be, overall, both dramatic melodramatic and unbelievable; have a twisted sense of historical chronology; and show such disregard for character development and interpretation of historical personages, as to boggle the imagination of any sensible reader. Reality should not be its strong point.

Xena should be portrayed as at once savage and unforgiving; sadistic, yet loving; dangerous, yet gentle; and determined to do good and right for the majority, however many individuals come to grief as a result of her hare-brained schemes, and in-your-face harsh methods of taking revenge against the baddies.

Revenge tolls loudly in Xena’s ears. She wants revenge on those who did her wrong in times gone by; and, by the Gods, there seem to have been hordes of such people! Revenge on local warlords going about their lawful purposes. Revenge on a variety of Gods of both sexes. Although with some (I’m thinking Ares, here) she wants revenge, lustful shenanigans, kick-ass vengeance, and a double-serving of loathing-fuelled hatred, all mixed together on her plate at once. This, of course, makes for a heady brew.

Gabrielle must be shown as incapable of tying her own bootlaces without Xena’s protection; yet absolutely the best Amazon warrior there has ever been, perfectly capable of kicking Xena’s ass if required; and certainly able to keep the energetic Warrior Princess under her blond-haired thumb (is that a double-whatever?) at all times. She should be described as wearing the most outrageous clothes; if the few small remnants she adorns her body in can be called clothes at all in the true sense of the term. Gabrielle’s temper should be shown as reflecting all the calm acceptance of a saint; while at the same time being only slightly less dangerous and destructive than an active volcano, when roused.

Gabrielle’s forbearance and wholly uncritical forgiveness for any and all bad deeds that Xena has ever undertaken, or will in future undertake, must be completely without logical or moral base. Gabrielle must effortlessly forgive Xena for sinking a ship, with the loss of all passengers and crew, on her journey to save a city; yet the Amazon must also react furiously against the citizens who are less than chuffed when Xena razes their town to the ground in order to save them from fifty brigands, led by a drunken sot.

Gabrielle must be sentimentally moved by any religion or sect that crosses her path; while at the same time offering sarcastic remarks to Xena about how the warrior is so often used by the Gods for their own purposes. Gabrielle should growl and snarl at Ares, the God of War; yes, that’s Ares, the God of War! But show nothing but friendship for Aphrodite, the ditziest Goddess in the Universe.

Gabrielle must be sketched as being wholly focussed on one person, Xena; subduing her whole life and personality to caring for the Warrior Princess; yet also be commanding and powerful in her stance as Queen of the Amazons. She must lament when a sparrow breaks its wing; yet lead her Amazon troops into bloody slaughter against the Romans. She must show hidden reserves of goodness, capability against all odds, a military accomplishment that would have put Julius Caesar, Hannibal, Henry V, General Eisenhower, and George S Patton to shame. At the exact same time she must be shown as horrified at the death of a single soldier or warrior; and ever willing to crawl into no-man’s-land to tend to a wounded warrior of either side no matter the risk to herself or those she is attempting to protect, if she is killed.

Gabrielle must be portrayed as at once merely Xena’s companion; her right-hand man; her secret lover; her open lover; her platonic lover; and also as capable of falling for almost anyone who crosses her red/gold or blonde-haired path, especially if it is a young handsome intellectually challenged man (think red shirt!). Gabrielle must, of course, be ready to be swayed by the personality, speeches, orations, or tender endearments of anyone at all, whether the time is propitious or not. She must follow Xena’s path with a blind determination that beggars belief; yet also swan off in a huff, possibly for several weeks at a time, when she thinks Xena is taking her presence and help lightly.

Xena must love Gabrielle wholly, completely, and without reserve. Xena must think Gabrielle is a prat who seriously encumbers her every move. Xena must explain in detail to Gabrielle that she, the Warrior Princess, has no use for any God and they are a blight on the landscape, end of discussion; then allow herself to be killed in order to enter the spirit world, be protected by these same Gods, and save the world (or at least one measly unknown town in Japan, whose presence on a map heretofore has universally been taken as a fly-spot for generations).

Xena must be shown to be mad as a ditch-digger without a shovel; capable of revenge on an enemy that would make Nero turn pale; stand for the absolute right of any group of people to go their own way; wreak bloody havoc against the Roman right to rule the known world (what did Xena want? The world to be ruled by a Greek psycho, like Alexander the Great?). She should thrust Gabrielle aside mercilessly; grab hold of the blonde one at every opportunity; be cold towards her best friend; lust for all sorts of high jinks with her; and be jealous as hell of every single person, male or female, who tries to strike up any kind of meaningful friendship with Gabrielle.

Gabrielle should disdain violence at every opportunity; teach her Amazons the arts of war and lead them into battle; she should love Xena; she should hate Xena; (let’s go nowhere near the conflict between them over Gabrielle’s daughter and Xena’s son); and finally Gabrielle should be revealed as, at the end of their adventures together, a completely different person from the girl who first met the Warrior Princess; while Xena, in her turn, remains exactly the same person at the end of the story as she was at the start.

If any author takes note of the above helpful hints, and attempts to shoe-horn as many of them into a single short story as is physically possible, then I am assured they will find themselves the happy perpetrator of the perfect Xena story.

Oh God, I can’t go on. It’s all too much for me. Hmm, this cartoon series ‘The Simpsons’—well-rounded characters; believable adventures; remarkably well-defined setting; and a wholly moral outlook on family life. Yep, looks as if I’ve found exactly the right fanfiction base I’ve been searching for all these years! So, first of all—how do we explain the yellow skin? The blue hair is, of course, a wig. Wait a minute, I have a cunning plan—

The End

~Phineas Redux~


Story Recommendation:

'Anything To Anywhere ' By Phineas Redux
This is an Uberfic set in England in 1942. Zena Mathews, a young New Zealand woman working as a pilot in the British Air Transport Auxiliary, is given a dangerous mission over enemy-occupied Europe; accompanied by her new navigator, Gabrielle Parker.
http://www.academyofbards.org/fanfic/p/phineasredux_anythingtoanywhere.html