Barbara, congratulations on the new book CHATTERBOX. You’re no stranger to writing, but what makes this book different for you as the author?
Thank you, Cyrus, for this interview. It’s always a pleasure to share thoughts about writing with you and your Conversations audience.
You’re right, Chatterbox: Stories from a Noisy Life is very different than my children’s book and my first collection of short stories. The stories in this book are deeply personal to my experience and, at the same time, touch points for the people who read them. I’m a child of the 1950s, half-Italian American, a native of New York and its suburbs, a bit of an outsider and a kid who wanted to be heard. In the moments, memories, observations, wonderings and cultural references I share from my childhood to the present day, I aim to connect people to their own experiences and the joy, doubt, amazement, loss, empathy, love, hopes, complexity of being human. People who have read or heard me read from Chatterbox say they see themselves in the stories, they shine a light on their memories and feelings.
It’s a pleasure to read the stories and reflections you share in the book. How did the writing of it start?
Memories and stories are always swirling around in my head. I write everyday about things that pop into my head to get them down on paper and hopefully understand them. A few years’ back, I was working with my friend Rochelle Udell on her memoir The Adventures of The Baker’s Daughter. She shared stories about her life. Those triggered memories for me which I shared with her. After her memoir was finished and published online, we created a weekly blog, and started sharing stories about all kinds of things. I wrote for the blog and the stories that I always write just for the heck of it every day, and the Chatterbox collection of stories came together.
I love how things like songs or movies make appearances in your musings. Have you always felt a connection to music and movies when it comes to your life and events you’ve experienced?
My life could be a musical. Seriously. Both my parents had good singing voices and loved music. I was in the school chorus and church choir and played the violin very badly. My brother Frank is an absolute musical genius. He started playing guitar at about age eight, I think, went on to play many other instruments, tour with a number of bands and composes music. My sister Laura had a great voice too. We used to sing together while we did the dishes after dinner. I think singing and playing music gave us the opportunity to say things we couldn’t actually speak out loud.
We didn’t have a lot growing up, but we had an enormous record collection in our house. There was always music playing. Someone was always singing. At family events, everyone sang—with my brother accompanying on guitar—and when we were in our teens and my brother was in a band, all the kids met at our house to rehearse in our finished basement or backyard. It was loud. My husband, Geoff, before he went to work in publishing, was a professional musician and has a breathtaking singing voice. And beyond that music defined my generation. Music was taught in schools. The radio, Ed Sullivan and other variety shows brought music into our homes. Chuck Berry, Elvis, Motown, The Beatles and English Invasion, Blues, R&B were the soundtrack of our lives. Going to concerts and clubs to hear bands and dance is what we did on a Saturday night.
And movies—Saturday afternoons was when the moms in my neighborhood deep-cleaned their houses. All of us kids were shuffled off to the local movie theater for the matinee show. Later in life, many of my friends were film students, so spending lots of time in dark movie theaters or making movies was what I did.
One of the powerful things you discuss is something a lot of people can relate to: the feeling of missing out on an opportunity. What was that like for you to think about when it came to sharing your stories and the things you wished you could have done or said?
I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. Haven’t we all? I also see a lot of things very differently now than I did when I was younger. Family dynamics are complicated, and it took me a long time to understand a lot that didn’t make sense to me earlier in life. Fortunately, I did have some time to get to know my dad and mom better toward the end of their lives, but there was so much I still wish I had said and done with them. I see stories as a way to fess up about what I wish had gone better, say thank you to people I might not have said thank you to enough and share the best of the people I love with others so that they will in some small way live forever.
An interesting connection I found, Barbara, with your first book I read TOO TALL ALICE and CHATTERBOX is the idea of finding where you belong. How has writing helped you find your place in the world?
I’ve always been a bit of an outsider, never one of the cool kids at any age, a little too sensitive for my own good and a serious chatterbox. Growing up when I did, most girls were tracked into being a teacher, secretary or nurse. None of that appealed to me. Words were my passion, and I started writing stories very young. “Brenda Starr: Girl Reporter” was my favorite newspaper comic strip—I had my mother mail them to me at summer camp so I didn’t miss anything while I was away.—and that got me thinking I wanted to be a writer. I finished my first two years of college, got a job as a secretary, hated it, quit and enrolled in college again and studied to be a writer. My secretarial skills did get me a job at Kelly Girl right out of school and that landed me a temp job at a publishing company which turned into a full-time job, and I have been writing in one capacity or another ever since. With writing, I got to put all the things some people thought were annoying about me—sensitivity, over-analysis, talking too much, asking too many questions—to good use. So, yes, I did find my place thanks to words and stories. Did I ever feel like one of the cool kids after that? Nope. Never.
Was there a story in the book that was more difficult than others to share?
There are three, in fact: “In Another Man’s Shoes,” “I’m Afraid to Say” and “Hell Loop.” They are about my father and that I didn’t get to take him to France or say goodbye to him at the end of his life. I’ll leave it there. I think the stories say it all.
I can’t talk about writing without bringing up the readers. Have you gotten used to the reality of the fans of your work that you’ve gathered over the years?
Fans? Me? That’s an idea I can’t get my head around at all. I am still amazed when people tell me they like my stories and know my name before I introduce myself. Yes, it makes me happy that people like what I write, and I love when they share stories that were sparked by what I wrote. Connecting people to what we have in common is one of my goals with my books and stories. So, a little secret: A number of wonderful people wrote endorsements or blurbs for Chatterbox. I cried every time I read one of them and said to Geoff, “I can’t believe it. People understand what I’m trying to say. They get me.”
CHATTERBOX has both nostalgic and revelatory vibes for me as a reader. Was that your hope? What did you hope readers would glean from not just the look at yourself but even at the events that have shaped them?
Empathy is something sorely lacking in our world right now. Stories—fiction and non-fiction—help us to learn empathy. That’s what I hope Chatterbox—well, all three of my books—will do. Walking a mile in one of my stories, I’m hoping, will bring readers closer to their own stories and the realization that we are not so different from each other. Personal stories, I have seen time and again, connect all of us to the universal. There is a revelatory moment or of self-reflection for every reader when a little light goes off and they think, “Oh, wow, that’s just like me, I’ve felt that, I never knew other people had the same experience.”
If my stories open a reader’s heart or mind to someone or something they’ve not known or maybe even liked before or erase a bias or tear down a wall to understanding or lead them to think about their own past, present and future, I’ve done my job as a writer. And, of course, I hope my stories make people smile. There’s a lot of funny stuff in Chatterbox.
Barbara, any advice you have for aspiring authors out there when it comes to writing that book they have talked about or thought about?
Write. Write. Write. Read. Read. Read. Watch, listen to and observe everything around you: the sounds of the street, your house, conversations—your own and those you hear when you’re not supposed to be listening. Catalog all of it. Writing is about observing and reporting on the human condition and experience. And dig deep into yourself. Facing your truths, all of them, is where the best stories start. Let yourself wander and wonder. Don’t edit anything, get the words down and then figure out what you’re trying to say. And remember, you have a story to tell, and it is worth sharing. Oh, and take courses and engage with other writers. I have grown so much as a creative person through continuous learning and being in the company of other talented people—and that’s also very life-affirming.
I am so proud of you, Barbara, and happy we had this time together. How can our readers stay connected with you?
My website is where you can find all kinds of information about me and my work, www.barbaraworton.com. I do a regular email newsletter “Barbara Is Chatterbox,” and if you’d like to get that, please drop me a line at barbara@barbaraworton.com. And you can find me on Instagram @barbaraischatterbox.
Thank you again, Cyrus, for this opportunity. You always getting me talking! And thank you to everyone who has read this piece. Peace, love and happiness to all of you.
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