In the environs of Southwold — I should prefer not to surrender its precise location — lies a pathway between two small conurbations. A few benches are strewn along the way, one of which is sheltered by trees. If you are very unlucky perhaps one person passes by each hour.

Sitting there, I am able to relax mind and body, and to savour the silence. It is here that batteries, especially creative ones, can be recharged, It's as close to an introvert’s paradise as I can imagine.

Many writers are introverts. Perhaps even most are. It’s an ideal state for the act of writing itself, where an ability to remain silent, and not interact with another person, for hours on end is a blessing.

For example, I like working in cafes. The background buzz provides a good environment for the creative juices to flow But if a waiter or waitress comes up to me and asks me how my day is going, or if I'd like another drink (to which the answer is always "yes"), or even if they just say “Hi”, I think the degree of conversation to be unacceptably high.

And this brings me to the title of this piece, the writer’s paradox. It seems to me that while being an introvert is a benefit as far as the writing itself is concerned, it’s a positive hindrance when it comes to all the other things writers have to do: pitch editors, meet publishers, attend your own book launch (if you're lucky), do book signings (ditto), talks, attend networking events…. I find the thought of these activities abhorrent, very much enjoy them while I'm doing them, and feel enormously relieved when it’s all over.

By my reckoning, that’s two paradoxes: one where the introvert’s profession involves being an extrovert, and one where he or she actually enjoys those extrovert activities.

I think that unless you’re fortunate enough to write one or two books that earn you a fortune, you have to grit your teeth and get on with the non-writing activities whether you enjoy them or now.