Writing and boxing: two disparate endeavors that appear to have nothing in common beyond their intrinsic masochism. One is a sport where you face an opponent, while the other is a solitary task where you must turn your back to the world. While the competitive nature of writing is always up for debate, most often the opponent is your own insular arrogance, imposter syndrome, or self-sabotage.

But last spring I noticed points of light aligning between the two, each example independent of one another. I got to know noir author Stephen J. Golds, who boxes regularly while writing in Japan. Then I read “Pretending to Fence” by SG Phillips (Expat, February 13th, 2021), an introspective non-fiction piece about the subtle intricacies of his neighborhood boxing gym. I saw another mob-noir specialist Max Thrax posting videos of himself hitting the bag… then, while writing an article on legendary L.A. poet Wanda Coleman, I learned she engaged in boxing-type training before she did live spoken word. More recently, Pussy Detective author DuVay Knox revealed a photo of himself as an 18-year-old “knockin motherfuckaz out at Lite Welter n Welter weights, fighting n’ fucking across Europe” — he later qualified for Olympic trials. So clearly something tangible is occurring, a cultural convergence, whether they realize it or not.

But the loudest example of someone who straddles the two worlds, on a professional level, is James “Lights Out” Lilley, the “punching poet” from Swansea, Wales. Lilley is the author of The Thousand Ghosts of You (Alien Buddah) and The Blue Hour (Uncle B Publications). After a long road of near-wins, Lilley was belted as the new British BKB (Bare Knuckle Boxing) Champion last summer, an achievement best expressed in his avalanche of giddy obscenities while being interviewed live on national television. The elation of his big win was not only contagious and magnetic — it officially bridged the gap between his literary and sports peers cheering him on; as if we were also acknowledging each other between claps. I found it irresistible to track him down and dissect his relationship between these two sides, and to cast an even wider net, I recruited Derek Maine, writer and boxing voyeur, to accompany my interrogation. 

 

 

Gabriel: James, what came first – the burning desire to write or to beat the fucking shit out of people?

 

Thinking back, I started Kung Fu when I was about 6 but that wasn’t so much about fighting; it was more to be like the Teenage Ninja Mutant Turtles. I wrote my first poem at a school workshop when I was about 8. I think the desire to write came first. I never was able to move away from writing. It took a back seat, sometimes for years, but the desire was always present. My desire for fighting came when I walked into my local boxing gym around the age of 13. After that there was no looking back.

 

Derek: Watching your interviews, you are a great shit talker. Funny and cocksure.  Do you feel this same confidence as a writer? So many writers are down on themselves or constantly complaining about the difficulty of creation. Are you able to transfer some of the braggadocio from the fight game to your writing life?

 

I suppose I do in a way. With fighting and writing, I never had dreams to be a world champion or a best-selling author. I just wanted to fight and write. Getting paid, belts, and published are all bonuses so I think the reason I’m so confident is that I enjoy it. I don’t feel too much pressure from either. Writing is slightly different as now I have been immersed in the world, especially all the great writers I have met, which makes me see the level some people are performing.

 

Gabriel: I have a personal reason why you’ve captured my imagination, James – back in 2010, there was a week where I began taking boxing lessons, which just so happened to be the same week I started writing my first novel. I had this naïve romantic idea I was going to be this tough yet sensitive writer/boxer hybrid. After arrogantly telling my instructor not to go easy on me when sparring, he fucking pummeled me, likely to teach me a lesson. When I got home later to write, I was so punch drunk I was slurring on the page, unable to construct a sentence. So, I quit boxing, thinking it was one or the other. So when you came on my radar, I was vicariously elated, knowing there was someone out there pulling it off. Have you ever sustained a head injury that kept you from writing? How do you balance the two hemispheres, since the instincts might seem counter-intuitive to some people?

 

I’ve been lucky enough not to take too many blows to the head, maybe due to my style of fighting, but for someone who has been in over a hundred fights, I haven’t been in many wars. It certainly is a worry if I am being completely honest. I think the older I get the more worries increase, though I have never thought too much about how blows will impact my writing. I think there will be a point, not too far in the future, when I will have to give up fighting. 

 

Derek: What are some differences between bare-knuckle boxing and traditional boxing that a viewer, or an average fan, might not know or appreciate? Is there anything in your training that is significantly different for a bare-knuckle boxing match?

 

It sounds a little obvious, but the gloves are the main difference — and I don’t mean the fact that they are protecting your hands. With gloves, the size and build of them offer you protection when parrying and blocking shots. You don’t get that kind of protection without them. The rounds are a lot shorter in modern-day Bare Knuckle boxing so you’re likely to see more action with neither fighter particularly worried about pacing themselves. 

 

Gabriel: I mentioned the instincts behind boxing and writing being disparate, but I feel there’s a lot of overlap in the experience. Often when we sit down to write, we don’t know what’s going to come out; or what kind of inner emotion our writing may trigger that might inspire the next move. I think many overlook the emotional fallout of fighting, how it can knock loose hidden emotions the same way it can knock loose a tooth. Like, I remember a couple of times getting in fights when I was younger, where I actually beat the fucking shit out of the person, maybe even unfairly, and when the dust settled, I burst into tears in private. Do you ever have any breakdowns after a fight or does the residual adrenaline create a shield from this?

 

Whether I win or lose, the fight being over, finishing training, even for a little while fills me with a sense of relief. It may not be the most macho thing to say but being able to facetime my wife and kids to show them I am ok and not hurt is a relief, to say the least. I don’t reflect on the fights too much. I suppose in a way because we are both looking for the same things, the same goal, to win at any cost, I don’t spare much thought to my opponent. That is probably a selfish thing to admit. I have kept up a good relationship with most former opponents. There is definitely mutual respect and I speak to them often. 

 

Derek:  I like to watch and follow club-level boxing. I think the stories of the fighters are more interesting and oftentimes fights are far better matched at a club level. Going by your Boxrec, it looks like you’ve completely moved over to bare-knuckle. Do you have plans to put on the gloves again?

 

Gabriel: To expand on Derek’s question, let’s talk pain and tolerance for gloves versus fist. Having been punched in the face by both a glove and a bare fist, part of me prefers the tactile bare fist – I’d rather have the force of my opponent potentially split my skin as a wound I can focus on, than the more profound pummel of a glove where sometimes you can’t focus on anything. I think some might think a glove is like getting punched with a little pillow or something, but it’s brutal. More like getting a headrest from a car getting smacked across your face.

 

It’s a complex situation in the UK, if you compete in MMA or Bare Knuckle you won’t get a boxing license (or have it revoked) by the British Boxing Board, there are avenues such as unlicensed boxing. To be honest, I feel I have found my niche with Bare Knuckle.

 

To answer your part Gabe: apparently, a study showed Bare Knuckle boxing was safer for head injuries than glove boxing. The glove is designed to protect your hands so you can repeatedly administer concussive blows. Whereas with no gloves you crack a guy in the head in the wrong place you break your hands, I once described being punched with no glove as having hot water thrown on my face. You instantly feel heat and swelling which you don’t get straight away if your opponent has gloves on. The other thing is every blow you deliver damages your hand.  The punches to the face I can handle, the pain from your hands is another level. 

 

Derek: Do you think you’ll stay in the fight game after your own fighting days are over? If so, what interests you? Training, managing, promoting?

 

I’ve been thinking of this a lot lately. I’m kind of addicted to fighting if I’m honest. I don’t know how I am going to give it up. I’m getting older however and have a young family to think about. I’m a fan too so I enjoy watching MMA, boxing, or whatever but I don’t know if I can train others just yet. Maybe a break first. 

 

Gabriel: I prefer to fight with words over violence, but there is a huge part of me that feels wistful for the days where getting in a fight was a viable way to solve a disagreement. Take the advent of social media cancel culture, where even if the offense is real and there are receipts for it, what is the actual endgame? What does accountability even look like when another person’s life has been ruined long-term? But when two people of equal build confront each other in real life, there’s a tangible veil drop of who’s sincere and who’s been disingenuous – and that weakness of spirit will often transfer to the weakness of their physical defense. And then, it’s over. Barring the cowardice of domestic violence from the equation, it’s almost as if violence often keeps things moving along, in a sense. 

 

My gym’s motto is Fighting Solves Everything. Many people, including myself, will try to avoid confrontation and violence. Trying to live a peaceful, safe, existence but there are some people in this world who will not take you walking away, or saying sorry as the end of the matter, unfortunately. The world is a cruel place and I think we need to be able to contend with it. 

 

Derek: There are two moments that I’m obsessed with as a fan (a voyeur, a viewer). That time alone with yourself before walking out and the first clean, flush shot you take in a fight. What goes on in your head in the dressing room beforehand? What are some of your mental preparation techniques? Can you read on fight day? Is it calming? And that first clean shot that your opponent lands; I have seen so many fighters perk up in that very instant, almost like that’s when the fight starts for them, and they seem to draw energy from that shot. Is it that way with your or are you firmly in the “hit and don’t get hit” camp?

 

The emotions you get on fight week are a rollercoaster.  They are hard to master. You kind of question why the fuck you are doing it. I go from supremely confident to fearful in a flip of the switch. The changing room before a fight is also a weird experience. You seem to have all the hours to kill before you fight. I like to listen to music, never tried reading to be honest because I doubt I could focus. I am quite calm in the changing room, but you do get the nagging doubts creeping in. Coaches and other fighters you know all help with the nerves. Suddenly the hours have flown by and you get a knock at the door. One more fight before yours. Start hitting the pads, calming, steeling yourself. It’s a wild ride. The bell goes and you kind of empty your mind. You aren’t thinking anymore — your instincts, training take over. I usually take a shot early before I click into gear. 

 

Gabriel: Do you believe engaging in violence, or at least knowing how to physically defend yourself, builds character? Prepares youth for the unpredictability of our cruel world? With all the modern emphasis on anti-bullying campaigns in schools, are we doing our children a disservice thereby making them soft in the long term, robbing them of their fighting spirit?

 

I think the world has become a lot softer. It may sound like a cliché but I grew up in a rough area, boxing saved some of the kids from prison and whatever else. I think sport is important in society. Not everyone enjoys sports or martial arts, and I can completely understand people having no interest in them. Take my two daughters for example. The eldest enjoys coming to the gym with me, loves exercising and doing classes but has no interest in punching the bag. wrestling or Jujitsu. My youngest daughter (and toddler son) both love wrestling, pretend fighting. I’d like to put all three of them into a martial art, so they have some form of protection or knowledge, like you said the world is cruel and unfortunately not everyone is down for harmony.