Rick Neumayer is no stranger to these pages. Faithful readers may remember that we met in an intense novel-writing workshop in Ireland. Five of us and a mentor, immersed in a couple of weeks of reading, critiquing, and talking writing in both Dublin at Trinity College and then onto tiny Oranmore for the remainder of the trip. We got to know one another, and one another’s work, quite well.

Since then, I am proud to say that Rick has published three novels, and now this short story collection. Reading Three Foggy Mornings felt like an overdue visit with an old friend. (Can you say that about someone you’ve known for just over a decade?)

Part story collection, part time capsule, part quiet memoir in disguise, Three Foggy Mornings gathers thirty-three stories written across five decades, plus two essays that pull back the curtain on craft. The result is more than fictional entertainment; it’s a conversation about what it means to live a creative life. Many of these excellent stories were published in various literary magazines from 1974 through 2020, gathered together for the first time now.  

What struck me most about them wasn’t just the range, though the collection spans continents, decades, a wide range of topics, and emotional tones, but the constancy of voice. Whether he’s writing about ancestors, artists, or current events, Neumayer’s tone is reflective, generous, humorous, and keenly observant. Many of the stories feel autobiographical, but not in a confessional way, in the sense that they’re shaped by a life deeply witnessed and reimagined with care.

Reading them just makes you like the guy and want to know him better. Some of us are lucky enough to already know him.

The lead story, “Stalking Jennifer Lawrence,” plays with pop culture and layered narrative. It’s a story-within-a-story, and sneakily, it contains the antidote to writer’s block inside a tale about someone struggling with it. Classic Rick. Clever and self-aware, but always in service to the story. That was a strong choice to lead with.

Following it is the titular “Three Foggy Mornings,” another tour de force. Originally published as “Thirty-Six Rockers,” (also an awesome title) in New Southerner, the details will make you  feel as if you’ve lived among the nostalgia described: “Chairs, spice racks, a box of axe handles, bundles of paint brushes, crates of old bottles, mirrors, bushel baskets full of goblets and glasses and milk-glass vases, a dozen Barlow pocketknives, a carton of plumber’s helpers, coiled strands of Christmas tree lights, framed pictures.” (p. 17) All things you either found in your grandparents’ barn or, if you’ve ever been to an auction of household goods, items that would 100% be found on tables strewn on the yard amid the scent of hot dogs coming from the concession wagon.

Those loving details are tiny paintings, all. And the touching ending is earned.

Other stories include characters longtime readers will recognize, like Pate from Rick’s first novel, Journeyman. These callbacks feel like seeing old friends again, or perhaps witnessing their beginnings. There are also clusters of stories that feature the same characters and feel almost like novellas, an unexpected but welcome slice of time with the familiar.

You feel the cumulative in this book: a writer returning to the page, year after year, to make sense of the world. You feel his steady hand, his curiosity, and how he’s loved the world: fearlessly, attentively.

The essays at the end don’t over-explain. Instead, they frame the collection as part of a lifelong engagement with writing as both habit and inquiry. Writers and teachers will find much to admire here. “The Hardboiled Private Eye” in particular deserves a home in a craft magazine. (Rick, I hope you send it out!)

His reflections on writing reminded me of Stephen King, but less the horror, more the plainspoken wisdom about how and why we write. His sympathy with the reader is heartfelt: read for the story, read for the language, read what you want; read whatever you please.

I heartily agree.

Three Foggy Mornings reminds us that all stories are, in some way, love letters: to the lives we’ve lived, to the people who’ve shaped us, and to the selves we’ve yet to imagine.

I’m honored to know Rick and his work. This collection feels like one that needed to be, and here it is.

I would also be remiss not to say that the gorgeous painting, Road Side, was used as the cover art for Rick’s book and was painted by his precious departed wife, Corie Neumayer. The perfect touch.

Please read these moving stories for yourself, or better yet, all of Rick’s books.