SOMETIMES, in moments of bleak reflection, I think I have spent half my life waiting for footballers to come to an interview. And the other half wishing they hadn’t. This is, of course, inaccurate and unfair.

There were and are tardy footballers with little of substance to say. But the mass were and are helpful and often insightful. Highlights include shaking the hand of Sir Bobby Charlton in the shadow of his own statue after a moving natter at Old Trafford, Steven Naismith on his journey with dyslexia, Lisbon Lion John Clark on a tough childhood and Sir Alex Ferguson on Jock Stein. Indeed, Alex Ferguson on anything.

There has been the odd mischief-maker. Clarence Seedorf, then of AC Milan, was so committed to extracting my bodily fluid with his, er, whimsical answers that I asked him robustly and slowly if his middle name was spelled C-A-T-H-E-T-E-R.

But, largely, nattering to people has been a fine way to steal a living. Its high point is to talk to heroes and heroines and discover they are decent people. This has an added bonus in the shape of writers. A personal audience with a great author is a very special privilege.

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Many years ago, I started a small, personal tradition. Whenever I spoke to an author I would ask him or her who was their favourite writer. The twist was that I should not have heard of said writer.

This all began with a meeting with William Boyd, a talented writer and a genuinely lovely man. I was battling with a deadline that was so tough it would now be referred to the Court of Human Rights. The interview had to be delivered to the sub-editors within two hours of it ending. I explained my predicament to him and he basically dictated it.

Pausing only to pay the bar bill and politely ask a concierge to order me a taxi back to the black Lubyanka of Albion Street where I would be tethered to a keyboard until I produced 2000 words, he continued his amiable discourse by posing a question.

‘Have you read William Gerhardie?’

The only answer was: ‘No.’ After all, he was offering me a slice of his hinterland. The truthful answer was 'Yes.' I went with the former out of a sense of politeness.

He gave me a brilliant exposition of Gerhardie’s qualities before I disappeared into the black night and the darker recesses of my prose.

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It showed a flaw in the exercise. There is not much use in recommending books by writers the listener has never heard of if the listener has read the books of the author you presumed they had never heard of…

It is, of course, a victimless crime and one committed in an act of generosity. Nobody is hurt and we go again, as the footballers say.

There is, though, a wonderful blessing in being introduced to an author. These can fall into three categories. The first is exemplified by a conversation with Ali Smith (Scotland’s greatest living writer?) more than 20 years ago when she said I should read all of Muriel Spark. I had heard of Spark, of course, I had read some of Spark, of course, but was convinced to read all of Spark. I remain grateful to Ali.

The second category was covered by William McIlvanney who recommended Montaigne’s essays. I had heard of Montaigne but not read him. Again, I am grateful to Willie.

The third category is the most giving. It contains those of whom one has never heard. There are many ways to make this introduction. Two podcasts should be mentioned: the estimable Read All About and the equally wonderful Backlisted. Both have added to my reading and to the growing pile of literature by the side of the bed.

Recommendations have also poured down the years from friends, readers and authors. One of the wonderful aspects of life is that it opens up even as it threatens to close down. My advanced years mean I am in a race to finish the unread books – some now stacking up in the hall – before my individual chapter is closed.

In the spirit of giving that these authors have shown me over the years, I now pass on recommendations for some writers you have not heard of. Probably. Well, maybe.

Hopefully there is one that offers the opportunity for that joy of encountering a great writer for the first time. I have restricted myself to fiction.

So here goes with a random 20: Vasily Grossman, Daniel Woodrell, Kevin Barry, Dermot Healy, Elizabeth Strout, James Sallis, Charles Willeford, Laura Lippman, James Salter, William Maxwell, Zora Neale Thurston, Lorrie Moore, Tara Bergin, Robertson Davies, Pete Dexter, Curtis Sittenfeld, Francis Spufford, Jon McGregor, Jim Crace and Marilynne Robinson. And breathe.

Some of these names are famous to many, but perhaps not to you. At one time, they weren’t to me. Their company has brought solace, happiness and some understanding to my life. They are unreservedly recommended.

But now I ask the question of you. Who would you recommend as a novelist, perhaps one you believe has been overlooked or or just one who is relatively unknown?

Your tips can be listed in the comments section on the website or even by using that quill pen and writing to me at The Herald. I will report back on the best writers introduced by readers at a later date. After all, I will consume them all waiting for footballers.

Oh, and a final note. The comments section can, of course, still be used for indiscriminate criticism of me and all my works. It’s what keeps me going.

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