The other source of inspiration behind the “Wyvern Falls” name is in fact a nod to the village I spent much of my misbegotten youth in, a scenic little village in upstate New York known as ‘Honeoye Falls’. It was (and still is) a quaint place and will always occupy an admittedly idyllic place in my mind. All the old friends and neighbors are now gone but that house and street where so many of my youthful dreams were forged still exists, and always will in my mind. For me and my family, at least, it was as perfect a place to grow up in as one can imagine, though not without it’s excitement. Like the time my uncle and a certain (unnamed) local biker nearly got pegged by a drive-by shotgun shooting after a bar fight downtown, taking out the window of the (then) Brick Oven Pizza at the four corners, or the time the bridge from where I shot this photo collapsed. There were plenty of odd and eccentric characters there of course, and plenty of devious adventures gotten into. Possibly involving fireworks, blowing up ship models in the creek, chasing girls and getting drunk. Not necessarily in that order. But there were also the Fireman’s Parades, the Fireman’s Carnivals, the endless summer days and long winters. It was a safe place. Which was of course why I had to leave it, though I realize now it’s still with me even now, partially re-imagined through the distorted lens of a certain village along the Hudson River.
It was also the place where, as a High-School teenager, I sat down at my Mom’s old Smith Corona and wrote my first short story.