Genre of Silence by Matt Briggs My Father and the Genre of Silence My father died in 2011 and left behind him a rebuilt red Chevy Super Impala convertible 1968, a couple of houses, and about a half dozen shoeboxes full of several thousand photographs of the Central Cascade mountains. I hadn’t spoken with my father for five years before his death. Even before even though my dad had a lot to say and said it, his conversation was hardly intimate or even interactive.

Seattle is a Vortex by Matt Briggs I often stumble into a new part of Seattle. The smell of freshly poured concrete and sprayed paint creates a sensation like vertigo, like standing on top of the Aurora Bridge, staring down into the ship canal and realizing I’m standing on a shell of asphalt and concrete and steel wrapping the wind and current and muck. I might stand on a Seattle street with crowds milling around me next to a ten-story structure.

Pacific Highway South: Best American Strip City by Matt Briggs Walking the Dog I live across the street from a swampy vacant lot. Cottonwoods grow on the lot’s margins, and around the lot there are houses, apartment buildings, highways. There are a lot of people who never see one another. A bird’s nest, empty most of the time except during the spring migration, clings to the cottonwood closest to my subdivision.

Fred Is Dead by Matt Briggs Hhhh My uncle was obsessed with being alive to the point where he didn’t live at all. He filled a cardboard box with free verse, a landfill with green bottles and a tin urn with his ashes. When I was first aware of him, he was growing things out, weird like Howard Hughes. Uncle Fred decided to grow a whisker under his chin as long as it would grow.

Flag Ceremony by Matt Briggs Sometime after I had been in my Army basic training unit long enough, I knew how to polish my boots until the surface held a thin, buffed glaze richer than the spay-on polish applied by the Drill Sergeants. The aerosol shine left a mucous sheen still shiny even after trail dirt and field dust coated their heels. I knew how to take my time stripping down the excess, black Kiwi wax and then applying a light touch and buffing the leather with my brush.

About Suburgian My name is Matt Briggs. I’m a writer living in the suburbs south of Seattle, north of Tacoma. About Matt Briggs I’ve written some books set in the Seattle area. Several of these books are based on my experience growing up in the Snoqualmie Valley in the 70s and early 80s. Both of my parents grew up in Seattle, but in the early 70s wanted to move to a place where they could grow their own food and escape the city.

Post collections

I’ve grouped my blog posts into collections that tell a cohesive story, much like chapters in a book. This format helps me share complete ideas in an organized manner.

Every collection revolves around a specific theme, allowing for a more in-depth look at the topic. This approach makes may make it easier for readers to collect the content without having to jump between unrelated articles.

Stories on Suburgian

The following are original short stories that I’ve published on this site.

• Des Moines Creek Ghost Story
• A Higher Power
• My Depakote Regimen
• Depressions on the Moon
• The Centripetal Force of Holding Hands