A paragraph in Alex Clark's excellent recent article on the current new wave of literary nights particularly caught my eye: "What of the writers who can't, or don't want to [read]? Those for whom the words on the page are the thing, not their talent for doing a turn?"

What indeed. With a novel coming out this autumn and having been asked to appear at a fair few readings myself, it's something I've considered a lot of late. Though flattered, it's not a request I always enjoy. I've been to many literary readings – some brilliant, some cringeworthy – and know writers who excel at performing their work. But aside from playing Ronnie Corbett (portraying him, that is – I didn't attempt to use him as a wind instrument) in a school production, and a drunken teenage tenure on bass in a punk band, I've never been one for getting on stage.

I know I'm not alone in this. There are a silent many who see a huge difference between writing and reading; those for whom writing is an intensely personal thing and, for some, a chance to express things that could not be spoken.

However, we're living in era where a writer can't just write. They have to be out there. I understand that. Some would argue that readings are part of a writer's job; I would counter that if someone is terrible at an aspect of their job, then they should instead play to their strengths. I fear that a bad reading could be counterproductive. Of course, not being a drinker of alcohol these days and not having access to a regular supply of tranquilisers possibly doesn't help either.

I can't explain my own aversion. I've been on live radio and numerous television programmes and can hold my own in conversation with tramps, toffs and rock stars alike, so I know I'm not shy, but reading something so personal as my own work? No. I would genuinely rather jiggle my bare genitals at an audience than do that. In fact, I'm available for bookings. Maybe not children's parties though.

So how does the performance-shy writer compensate? Well, fortunately it's the 21st century and there are many alternatives. Personally I've signed up to social network sites, built up mailing lists, and worked to maintain contacts with journalists and readers. With each inane tweet my dream of being a Salinger-esque enigma diminishes, yet it still feels a necessary evil. I've also schmoozed booksellers and chain store's buyers, made audio recordings and printed up postcards that I leave in strategic places. It's shameless really.

Employing someone to read instead – an actor, say – is a tactic that can work well, as it did when I saw octogenarian Watership Down author Richard Adams launch a novel that had a young black slave as the narrator. I also once attended a memorably fraught JT Leroy reading not helped by inane vocal encouragements in the audience from Marianne Faithful ("Take your time darling – and remember we all love you very much!") It was all the more baffling when it was later revealed that "JT Leroy" was not a young man but a female stand-in. And in fact JT Leroy never existed in the first place.

The question is: do readers expect their writers to be performers too?