Many years ago, I stumbled upon a fascinating treasure at a yard sale, an event I typically avoid. Yard sales rarely excite me; sifting through other people's discarded items is not my idea of fun. However, at a particular point in my life, I made it a goal to stop whenever I came across one, primarily for the chance to find books.

Throughout my life, I've battled a relentless obsession with books—something I can only describe as a ‘book disease.’ While it may not have an official name, it's a persistent craving I’ve been unable to shake. Since childhood, books have captivated me like nothing else. The library became my sanctuary, and receiving a book as a gift was, to me, the ultimate joy.

There’s no feeling quite like holding a book in my hands. I vividly recall a birthday when my parents gifted me a Latin-English dictionary. I can still picture myself inhaling its scent, filled with excitement. That dictionary became my companion for weeks until I moved on to explore other reads.

As an adult, my career has spanned various fields, yet I continually found my way back to the book industry. I managed several bookstores and even owned one for nine years. I've dabbled in mail-order book sales, editing, publishing, and have written and published around a dozen titles. No matter how far I venture from the literary world, my passion always draws me back.

Initially, my bookstore only sold new books, but I eventually expanded into the realm of used books, despite my initial reluctance as a self-proclaimed book snob. This shift led me to explore yard sales, where I would focus solely on books, blocking out everything else.

One day, after dropping my daughter at softball practice, I noticed a yard sale and parked my station wagon. My eyes quickly landed on a table overflowing with books, marked with a sign reading: ‘All Books 25 Cents.’

Many yard sale books often look as if they've been through a war, but I treat books with the reverence they deserve. I consider them sacred objects. After reading a book, I ensure it remains in pristine condition—I never dog-ear pages, highlight text, or let the spine crack. I even wash my hands before reading to keep them clean. This obsession should provide some insight into my ‘book disease.’

Amidst my browsing, I discovered a worn blue book featuring a donkey on the cover. The title? _The Donkey Dick_. The subtitle? _A Children’s Story_.

What an odd title for a children's book!

Though it was long ago, I remember the book was published in the 1850s. The pages were yellowed, and it had an unmistakably ancient aroma, complete with vintage illustrations. For a mere quarter, I couldn’t resist purchasing it along with a few other books.

The following day at my bookstore, I excitedly opened the bag containing my yard sale finds. Upon picking up the little blue book, I began to read. It depicted life in the 1850s when farm chores were shared among family members, including children. Farms were home to various animals, including donkeys, which were often cared for by boys aged 10 to 14, humorously referred to as… donkey dicks!

Thus, the title had nothing to do with inappropriate content.

The narrative followed an eleven-year-old boy—one of these “donkey dicks”—who tended to the family’s donkeys in Missouri. After breakfast one day, he led the donkeys to pasture, a task he took for granted. Following this chore, he sat beneath a tree and dozed off.

When he awoke, he was horrified to find the donkeys had wandered off. Realizing he had left the gate open, he spent the day searching for them, worrying about the punishment that awaited him.

The story’s moral was clear: pay attention and don’t let your guard down.

It wasn’t great literature—far from it. I spotted several spelling and grammatical errors, and my ‘book disease’ made it hard for me to read without mentally editing. The book held no remarkable qualities, though its age lent it some value. Its true worth, however, lay in its title. While it might have been innocuous in the 1850s, today it could provoke quite a reaction.

Selling used books typically yields minimal profit unless done in large quantities. However, a book titled _The Donkey Dick_ was a different story. Besides its antique appeal, the novelty of the title ensured it would attract attention. I decided to price it at $25, marking it up significantly more than usual.

I displayed the book prominently at the counter, ensuring it caught everyone’s eye. And it did! Customers couldn’t resist picking it up and examining it, sparking delightful conversations. For five days, it became the talk of the store.

On the sixth day, a suited man entered, quickly spotting the book. He flipped through it and, without hesitation, purchased it. While I was thrilled about the sale, I felt a pang of sadness knowing the conversation starter was gone. What would excite my customers now?

In hindsight, I realized I could have charged $50, and it likely would have sold just as quickly.

This experience taught me about the significance of titles and words. We often refer to it as click-bait today, but every writer aspires to create compelling titles that draw readers in. A fantastic book might go unread if the title fails to attract attention. Titles matter.

Click-bait has developed a negative reputation due to many sensational titles leading to disappointing content. Readers have grown fatigued. _The Donkey Dick_ stands as an example of effective click-bait—though it was never intended as such in the 1850s. The original author could not have foreseen how attention-grabbing the title would become.

This reflection leads me to consider how words evolve over time. Contemporary readers interpret “donkey dick” very differently than those from the mid-1800s.

Some words change meaning even more rapidly. Growing up during the Cold War, the word “bomb” was fraught with negative associations, symbolizing destruction and failure. If a Broadway show bombed, it meant it flopped. Yet today, if a show is a smashing success, we say, “It’s the bomb.” Within just 50 years, its meaning flipped entirely.

Similarly, calling someone a dog once implied they were unattractive, while now it’s a term of endearment among men.

What will the future hold for these words?

Recently, I commented on an article about the use of the ‘F’ word in titles on Medium. I find it crass and lacking creativity, and upon reflection, I regretted expressing my opinion.

Why? Because ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Words come and go, their meanings shift, and they serve merely as indicators of something beyond themselves. To get upset over words reveals a misunderstanding of their transient nature. Sticks and stones…

I realized my reaction stemmed from my personal biases rather than the word itself. Perhaps my focus should have been on my response rather than the term. This brought to mind the _Donkey Dick_ tale, highlighting how trivial my concerns were. It’s wise to remain aware of our work and not let it slip away unnoticed.