James A Lyons

Sir David Attenborough's 100th birthday to be marked by BBC with special programmes The corporation will look back on the veteran wildlife broadcaster's career for his birthday in May.

Britain would be much less educated without David Attenborough. Quite fitting that after travelling the whole world his new show will be set around our own back gardens.

Might have to watch all his past shows again over the next two months.

www.bbc.co.uk/news/article...

Creating a Strong Protagonist Bournemouth Writing Festival

Bournemouth Writing Festival 2026

Come check out a wide range of events, meet agents, and authors this April. I will be in the Writer's hive, and taking part in a panel event around the topic of Creating a Strong Protagonist, hosted by @kathleenwhyman.bsky.social

open.substack.com/pub/jamesaly...

Nothing good will ever come from drinking eight espresso martinis in the space of sixty minutes. If the alcohol doesn’t get you, the caffeine definitely will. I am waist deep in the worst hangover since the Year 11 ‘absinthe incident'. Today is the first morning since my days in care where I’ve not been wished a happy birthday. With my sister in New York, and Callum and Gabe being AWOL, I should have expected as much. I haven’t seen my two flatmates for five days now. They’re likely at the curtain call of another all-nighter smelling of weed, cheap lager, and casual heterosexuality. My body is screaming at me to crawl into a dark corner and die peacefully instead of brushing away the acidic remains of last night’s session from my teeth. I scrub away last night's eyeliner, before I stumble to the kitchen and pour myself a cup of ambition (okay, water, same thing), feeling my throat cool as I gulp it down in two. When I plug my phone in to charge by the kettle, I feel it vibrate immediately with a text from Daria. “Happy birthday Harri. I need to speak to you URGENTLY. Call me xx.” I’ll call later. It must be about 3am on the East Coast by now. For the past two years, I’ve experimented with every hangover cure imaginable. I once even attempted a sunrise run along the promenade, only to end up vomiting behind a beach hut. I stand again, battered and bruised, ready to face another day with my eyes feeling like they are sunken halfway into my skull. My shoulders tense at the prospect of eight long hours working in the café today. The temptation to pull a sickie is strong. I breathe out, slow and deliberate. The first day of my twenties. I hope by the last I will be in a better place, both physically and metaphorically. God, I need an excuse to escape this town. As I drag myself through the flat, I spot three pigeon feathers lying on the welcome mat, released from my Converse during last night's chaotic return home. I toss them out the front door and scoop up my

Uncle Eric I’m not a failure. I just haven’t found success. There is a difference. A subtle one, but a difference, nonetheless. When I turned twenty I’d made a promise that I’d leave Stonemouth. It’s the one seaside town they’ve yet to close down, but by God are they trying. Ten hours into the first day of my twenty-fourth year and I have a hangover that could sink a battleship. According to the BBC News clock I’m already ten minutes late for my lunch shift. I trudge to the bathroom, my body screaming, desperate to crawl into a dark corner and die peacefully. Bent over the sink, my eyes close tight as I furiously scrub at last night’s thick eyeliner. Mum will drop by the café today and she can’t catch me in make-up again. She almost exhausted her homophobic insult guidebook the first time. If she knew the truth, it’d be even worse. “Good morning, you,” comes a tired voice from behind. I jump, striking my head on the base of the small bathroom wall cabinet, a line of empty shampoo bottles tumbling to the floor. I recall venomously telling Michelle last night that I don’t need no man, but another morning, another unknown hook-up emerges from the cesspit of my bedroom. She’ll have a field day when I see her at work. I should’ve left The Old Fire Station earlier and can’t recall much after my cheesy garlic mayo chips from Syd’s on the way there. Instead of ordering a taxi and sneaking out, my latest overnight guest, a boy with pale skin, a Green Day t-shirt, and blonde surfer hair, grins at me like a cat waiting to be fed. He’s an eight out of ten, possibly a nine due to his small, cute forearm tattoos, but even a ten isn’t what I need in my flat. I stare at him via the water-stained reflection of the cracked mirror and he smiles widely as he plays with his shell necklace. “I wondered where you’d gone. Are you okay?” The words come out as a croak. Did we meet at the karaoke bar? Did I even go there? “Um, yeah, all fine, thank you.” I scramble for his name. Jason? No,

Writers, what does the difference between your first draft and final draft look like?

A lot of this first page was adapted and changed, but still used later in the first chapter, but the final draft is definitely a lot stronger.

I don't think I've ever played a frame of snooker where someone hasn't asked "where's the cue ball going?" at some point because of John Virgo's commentary. Won't be the same watching the sport without his voice.

A 3p payment to my bank from Amazon

You: Getting royalties must be nice for the extra pocket money!

My bank account:

Typically there is a spelling mistake here, but I was excited alright? Over two years getting this book done.

WHAT HAS TWO THUMBS AND HAS JUST FINISHED HIS FINAL PUBLISHING EDTIS?

THIS GUY!!!

The pop art style cover of East End Boys and West End Girls

Gotta leave the office now, but these are all from my new novel, EAST END BOYS AND WEST END GIRLS. Out in April.

Might do some more snippets later.

A plastic sticker proudly boasts the café was awarded bronze in the Evening Standard Dining Awards, however this was sponsored by Woolworths and dates from 2008. It could be 2006.

“You don’t look like our Eric,” she says, her accent thick with the ingredients of an East End upbringing.

Even though this is central London, I could well be alone. People walk as if in a dream-like state, many with no focus and no direction. A west end town, but a dead-end world.

The Glasgow postmark in the top corner gives the game away too, as does the hilarious penis-illustrated envelope. His drawings are sickeningly detailed.

When the end inevitably came for the brief fling (as Michelle called it, despite it being a four-month relationship), it was clear Kristian would never be 'the one'.

Michelle raises her eyebrows and takes the cloth from my hand, cleaning the lengthy nozzle of the CoffeeMaster 3000 with rapid, suggestive hand movements.

"Hey, Daria. I can’t talk now." Even family should be banned from FaceTiming before midday.

Thick sweat engulfs the air in my bedroom, and condensation fogs the windows. I wipe them down with a pair of boxers, unveiling a picturesque view of the bin area for the neighbouring Chinese takeaway.

Instead of ordering a taxi and sneaking out, my latest overnight guest, a boy with pale skin, a Green Day t-shirt, and blonde surfer hair, grins at me like a cat waiting to be fed.

I’m not a failure. I just haven’t found success. There is a difference. A subtle one, but a difference, nonetheless. When I turned twenty I’d made a promise that I’d leave Stonemouth. It’s the one seaside town they’ve yet to close down, but by God are they trying.

Yeah I need something fun today.

1 like = 1 line from my new book (out this April).

(Feel free to suggest a word)

So thrilled!

A poster for creating a strong protagonist event at Bournemouth Writing Festival. Featuring Sharon Brisley-Moore, Hilra Gondim Vinha, Chris Powell and James A Lyons. Chaired by Kathleen Whyman. 10am on 26th April

Come join us in Bournemouth on 26th April to hear our thoughts on creating a strong protagonist.
Bournemouth Writing Festival is a multi-day festival with heaps of free and paid talks, workshops, agent 1-2-1 sessions and more.

Check out the full programme at www.bournemouthwritingfestival.co.uk

Pitch:

While honouring his estranged uncle's dying wish to reunite six iconic drag queen activists, a young gay man learns the dark truth about his adoptive mother. With her past about to impact his future, he must choose—his uncle’s legacy or the woman who raised him.

A pop art style poster with a woman looking shocked. Bottom right is the cover for the novel. The text reads Attention! ARC readers wanted!

A pop art poster showing the themes in bold. The text reads: an adult contemporary romantic comedy. Road trip. LGBTQ+ history. Found family. Rivals to lovers.

I am on the look out for ARC readers for my adult LGBTQ+ romcom EAST END BOYS AND WEST END GIRLS which comes out this April.

If interested, please comment or DM and I'll be on touch with more details. The pitch is in the comment below this.

Pls share for wider audience to see.

And how gorgeous is that cover art! Looking forward to this one ☺️

Thank you so much. It took me bloody ages so it's nice that it is appreciated!

Might be looking for ARC readers for this soon btw. If you like funny and touching books, keep an eye out (or DM me so I can see if I can get you added to the list. Not sure what the limit is yet).

Thank you Stuart! Will make sure I get a copy to you!

Might be looking for ARC readers for this soon btw. If you like funny and touching books, keep an eye out (or DM me so I can see if I can get you added to the list. Not sure what the limit is yet).

🥹 Thank you!

I'm obsessed with this cover 🤩 it's such a vibe!