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If I sound harassed and more than a bit paranoid, I'm sorry, but there's a good reason.

I've got another novel out.

Every single time, you forget exactly what this means.

In the old days, when a writer just did the writing, it was easy. You simply bought extra newspapers so you wouldn't miss a review. And the publishers (apparently) would send you a case of wine.

Now they only send you a list of instructions. For a couple of weeks, your life is not your own. To publicise your book, you're expected to learn the skills of a sales rep, stand-up comic, children's entertainer and... well, it gets worse. At the Radio Wales book programme, Phil The Shelf, we're often approached by publicists who confide, in pimp-like tones, that a particular author gives good interview...

At least, the writers always go away from our studio with the knowledge that I've actually read the books. This is seldom the case with radio presenters, especially the famous ones who will steer the conversation away from the actual book at the earliest possible opportunity. Don't forget to mention the title of your book as many times as possible, the publishers warn.

Then there are the bookshop signings where nobody turns up. And even worse, in the early days, the libraries. I was once invited to do a gig at Blackwood Library and turned up to find the audience consisted of three librarians and a bloke they'd dragged in from the street even though he'd never heard of me. It was a good night in the end. Librarians are very friendly and informative. 'You don't have much sex in your books, do you?' one observed ruefully.

Literary festivals can be even more discouraging. I once did one in Devon with Peter James, now a number-one bestselling crime writer, and Charlie Higson, now the author of the mega-selling Young Bond series and famous on TV.

Unfortunately, this was the year before The Fast Show became the new Monty Python. We pulled a crowd of about 15 and afterwards sat dolefully around a table of books that nobody wanted signing, watching the queue for Sue Townsend's gig winding twice round the building. In the end, I think we signed each other's books just to make it look as if something was happening.

Even when your sales start to improve, you need to be continually inventive to stay on top. It's time, then, to study the techniques of a master: Mid Wales comic-fantasy writer Jasper Fforde, creator of Thursday Next and the Nursery Crime series.

- feel free to check this out for yourself but beware of flashing images - is a wonderland of whimsy, where you can follow the adventures of his red suitcase, Samantha Samsonite, as she tours America. And if you live, as I do, not far from Jasper, you'll doubtless recall his Porsche, its paintwork covered with hundreds of little green frogs.

But these are only the trimmings. Serious fans can now book advance tickets for the 2012 , a whole weekend in which grown people can do Jasper-related silly things. The downside is you have to do them in Swindon.

Frankly, the rest of us think Jasper should be banged up somewhere dark and quiet before too many publishers' publicity departments are contaminated by whatever he's got. Although I fear it could already be too late. When I was daft enough to write a children's book, the publisher took me to lunch to introduce me to someone more experienced - the author of a series about a vampire pirate. He would tour schools with piles of his books, dressed in pirate kit and waving an imitation cutlass. Never failed, he said, watching me turn pale.

Anyway, I resisted, and the book bombed.

But if my publishers are reading this, I'd urge them to consider the late great JD Sallinger, author of The Catcher in the Rye and a famous recluse, who shunned the public and survived for decades on the huge profits of that one book.

Way to go, JD...

PS I just ran into Jasper Fforde - at the bank, as it happens - and he denies all responsibility for the Ffforde Festa, insisting it's been devised and organised by fans. 'I just turn up,' he says. Huh, he'll be saying vandals painted frogs on his car, next...