“Had you been more clever,” hissed the evil Doctor Krell, “you might have had an inkling of the importance of those first 125 characters.” He laughed to himself, a wheezy, sinister laugh. “But you weren’t clever, were you, you great man of letters? No. Idiot! You wasted your first precious words on some rambling description of a sunset. As if everyone hadn’t already read about more sunsets than any human can hope to see in a lifetime. What a fool!”

“Well, I thought …”

” ‘You thought,’ did you? ‘You thought.’ Ha!” Krell smirked. ”’Thought’ is the whole problem, isn’t it? It isn’t thought that draws them in at all, is it? It’s action! Danger! Fear!”

Milliken’s face was blank, uncomprehending.

“You still don’t comprehend, do you?” asked the observant, though evil, Doctor. “Let me give it to you again. Your first line is vital! It determines whether anyone will even bother to read another word. I should destroy you now, but no: you have one last chance. Now, go write it over and turn it in again on Monday!”