At a social gathering recently I ran into a psychiatrist I've met before.
He has a very nice wife and very smart kids and he, himself, stands out for being an incredible talker.
He talks very fast and he's very interesting and he gets so carried away with what he is saying that he goes on and on and eventually his wife has to cart him away.
To me, it's obvious that he's a born talker.
Once I talked for two days straight in the backseat of my uncle Stanley’s station wagon as it careened toward the west coast of Florida.
I was probably fourteen, on a road trip with my sister Em and our cousins, and in my boredom, I came up with the brilliant idea of using Em’s hairbrush, with its clear plastic handle and black bristles, as a microphone into which I did a constant play-by-play of the trip, with no commercial breaks.
I sang pretty much every mile marker—“mile marker two-hun-dred and sev-en”—from Missouri to Georgia.
I did the weather, monitored goings-on in other cars (“Hairy man in pickup truck to our left is picking a winner! Does he have a problem?”), and interviewed the other passengers.
I “reported” on various tidbits of information I’d picked up at Camp Nebagamon that summer, like the rumor that Diana Ross was actually a bitch to the other Supremes.
I don't think that someone who wasn't born that way could do it.
I just read this of Delmore Schwartz: "He was a brilliant talker and a restless omnivorous reader."
I'm assuming that the reading gave him something to say but not every reader is a talker. You have to process what you read into clear ideas that can be readily conveyed and you have to have an urge to share these ideas regularly and for an extended period of time.