When my first book, Buck Fever, came out, I did everything I could to publicize it. That included sending it to virtually any member of the media who might want to review it. Not long after I mailed it to an outdoors columnist who writes for small-town newspapers and regional magazines, he sent this reply:

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Mr. Rehder,

After a recent “hunt” at a ranch that, I was sorry to learn, released pen-raised birds before each outing, I was faced with the ethical question of what to write about an operation of which I do not approve. A fellow writer whose opinion I highly respect told me I had to use my own judgment, and compromising my integrity was not an option.

I find myself in much the same situation now.

While I realize that our society has been desensitized to foul language and promiscuity, I find this a deplorable result of life imitating what passes for art in a self-serving world. I do not use foul language in my speech or my work, and I disapprove of those who do.

I judge literature by asking whether I would want my children, or my mother, to read it. I could not recommend your book to either. I managed to get through the first chapter, and that was far enough. The language of the poachers is not acceptable by any means, and I found the attempts at humor rather sophomoric. Worse, the first appearance of the game warden, supposedly the protagonist of the story, finds him in bed with a woman not his wife.

Thank you for the offer of allowing me to review your book but, under the circumstances, I believe it will be necessary for me to pass.

Sincerely,

XXX

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Of course, I sent him an email defending my right to write whatever I want. I pointed out that, if publishers felt the same way he did, most of the greatest writers of all time would have never made it to print. I find it ridiculous that he judges literature by whether he would want his children or his mother to read it. Not all books are for all people.

I also found it silly that he didn’t criticize the poaching or the drunk driving in the book, but rather the language and the “promiscuity”—things that are NOT illegal.

What do you think? Does he have a valid point? Are books too raunchy or lacking in moral direction nowadays? Or is he just a tightass?

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Are you worried about the skyrocketing costs of health insurance? If you got your leg caught in a thresher, would you be in a financial bind? So would I, my friends, so I wrote an article about it. It appeared in the San Antonio Express-News several weeks ago, but I’m sharing it here........

I’ve been feeling nauseous lately, which is ironic, because my latest bill for health insurance is to blame.

I’m a member of a PPO, which, as we all know, stands for Painful Premium Organization. Three years ago, my monthly payment was a little more than one hundred dollars. Yes, I know, that’s very reasonable, but I have a high deductible and fairly basic coverage. Even so, the cost has skyrocketed upward every year. Now they want two fifty a month. I’m no math whiz, but off the top of my head, I’d say that’s an increase of roughly a gajillion percent.

In response, I did what any reasonable American would do in a similar situation. I tucked the bill into a drawer and ignored it. For a while. Finally, like an ingrown toenail, I had to deal with the problem.

So I called these jokers up. Well, to be accurate, I called their voicemail system. And it did what every voicemail system in America has been programmed to do: It kept me in limbo for fifteen minutes, then hung up on me. Probably for the best. If I’d listened to their cheesy on-hold music much longer, I would’ve needed psychiatric help, and my plan doesn’t cover it.

What I wanted to ask them was this: Do my rising premiums have anything to do with the “excellent financial results” the company mentioned in its 2005 annual report? Seems earnings per share jumped 29 percent last year. Go figure. I guess if you’re going to spend money on health care, maybe it should be in the form of stock.

Exactly how bad is the health-care crisis? I did a little research to find out, and I came away with a headache to complement my earlier queasiness. Here are some not-so-fun facts from the National Coalition on Health Care:

For five years running, employer health insurance premiums have increased annually by at least nine percent, nearly three times the rate of inflation.

The average cost of yearly coverage for a family of four is nearly $11,000, which is a thousand more than a brand-new Hyundai. If you have a larger family, you might be edging into Toyota territory.

Forty-six million U. S. citizens are uninsured. That’s a bigger number than the audience for the American Idol season finale. Sure, Taylor Hicks can sing, but going uninsured is, apparently, the bomb.

A Harvard study found that fifty percent of bankruptcy filings in the U.S. are attributed in part to overwhelming medical expenses. Every thirty seconds, someone files for bankruptcy following a serious health problem.

Every year, we spend 4.3 times as much on health care as we do on the national defense. That, to me, is the most mind-boggling statistic of all, given current events. Makes you realize we’re fighting a different type of war right here on our own soil.

Thankfully, my PPO, kind souls that they are, has a solution to this financial crisis. “Good news!” the letter says. I’m pre-approved to select from a variety of lower-priced plans, featuring comparable benefits, but with premiums that are 20 percent lower than my current plan.

Sounds good, but I’m no dummy. I finally hauled out my calculator and crunched some numbers. The premium for my old plan is going up 41 percent. So if I switch to one of the alternate plans, I won’t really be saving 20 percent, as they suggest, when you compare it to last year’s costs. I’ll merely be lessening the amount of the increase. My premium will only go up by 21 percent. In one year.

Is that really good news? If so, we’re in worse shape than I thought.

I was a good high-school student, but I really sucked when I got to college. I did well during my freshman year, but during my sophomore year, I started working at an ad agency. I really enjoyed it, working about 30 hours a week, and college became less and less important to me. But there was an easy solution. I don’t know how it is at most universities, but we had a bookstore where you could purchase notes from a particular class. That’s right, the bookstore paid someone to attend the class and take notes, and you could walk right up and buy the full semester’s worth. What a concept. This meant, obviously, that you didn’t have to attend class if you didn’t want to. I didn’t want to.

But this didn’t work for smaller classes, like, say, English classes. If you were continually absent from a room of thirty students, it was painfully obvious to the professor. So I made it a point to attend all of my English classes, which was probably wise, since I was an English major. I received mostly B’s, but a few C’s, and some of them by the skin of my teeth. I didn’t study much, and I wrote most of my papers the day before they were due. The literature classes were my least favorite, which is sort of odd, considering my current profession. The thing was, I wanted to be writing, not reading. And by writing, I mean fiction of my own, not analytical essays about fiction someone else wrote. I took all the creative writing classes I could, but you couldn’t avoid a few literature courses, even if Shakespeare bored you to tears.

However, I discovered a few unique little courses you could take for upper-level credit. Things like “The History of the English Language” and a few others whose titles elude me now. Then I accidentally stumbled into a Transformational Grammar class. Big mistake. I thought, “Hey, I’m good with grammar, so this will be a breeze.” Unfortunately, I didn’t take into account the “Transformational” part of the title.

What is transformational grammar? Even now, I can’t tell you. I remember that it had something to do with Noam Chomsky, and the class was taught by an ancient, highly respected professor emeritus. From the outset, I was totally lost. No idea what we were talking about in class. I went to see the old prof many times, asking for clarification on various issues, but it was no use. For some reason, he and I did not connect at all, and he might as well have been speaking Swahili. I did as well as I could (no, really, I did study) but it wasn’t good enough. He began to give me D’s. I went to see him a few more times, but it didn’t work. I was confounded, bumfuzzled, and bemused. Finally, I asked if I could drop the course and receive a “Q” or whatever you got when you bailed out. He wouldn’t let me. Which made me angry. He and I, at this point, were not getting along. It became obvious that I was going to fail--my first F ever.

So I decided to flame out in a big way. I went to the final exam, made a half-hearted attempt to answer the questions, then dumped the book in the trashcan on my way out the door. The professor saw this, as I’d intended. Surprise, surprise, I got my F.

I’m hardheaded, so I went to the dean and asked if my grade could be bumped to at least a D. Not a chance. So I asked if I could take the course again, with a different professor, and replace the old grade with the new grade. Not gonna happen, my friend.

I took the class again anyway, from the same prof who taught the History of the English Language, and I got an A.

Oddly, I still had no idea what transformational grammar was.

And now for this commercial message:

I'll be appearing on a mystery panel this Sunday, 2:00, at Barnes & Noble San Pedro in San Antonio. Other authors will include Jo-Ann Power and Jay Brandon. We'll talk about books and stuff. It'll be keen.

Not only do I hope to see you, I fully expect it, and will be crushed and disillusioned if you don't show. Or, at least, I'll be good and chapped. Ever been chapped? It's not pretty.

Here's a question for you: What makes you buy a particular book?

Nobody in the publishing industry has a firm handle on what drives sales, though everyone agrees that word-of-mouth is the most important factor.

So tell me--do reviews make you buy a book? Ads? The text on the dustjacket? The cover?

Do you go to the bookstore for a particular book, or do you browse until you find something that looks interesting?

Please tell me in the Comments section, so I can revolutionize the publishing industry.