I’m talking, tattling. Dishing the dirt.
Spilling tea and beans. Yes, messy – but necessary.
Many millennia ago, gossip was simply fireside storytelling – for warmth, connection, for show. My Hellenic Ancestor, Homer, kickstarted the trend. This dude’s Illiad is history’s biggest, fattest tea spill about the bitching that ripped through Greece post-Trojan war; love, sibling rivalry, control, pissed off parents – a typical Friday night in my childhood.
I grew up among gossip; a cloying, annoying oft-repeated round of she said, he saids. Add the nausea of regurgitating old gripes and …
Little did I know this was building my story muscle.
Gossip inspired my first recorded ‘talk show’ – Phyllis’ Opinions to Family Problems (sic). I was 12 and my grandmother, my (reluctant) guest.
Decades later a famous screenwriting teacher shared this priceless gem with me,
“Gossips make great storytellers.” Was this permission or, validation?
George Harrison scolded, “Gossip is the devil’s radio.”
Truman Capote fired back, “All literature is gossip.”
But US columnist Liz Smith, (aka The Grand Dame of Dish) dropped the mic,
“Gossip is just news running ahead of itself in a red, satin dress.”
Like stories, gossip isn’t going away. So, get good at it. Choose vital facts, over vitriol. Tell the truth, not tales. The purest form isn’t about belittling behind backs. It’s your ancient instinct to connect, share, entertain, love and be loved.
Am I an advocate for gossip? Sure, if it does good and feels good.
And forget about the red, satin dress – mine’s, silk.
© Phyllis Foundis 2025