Bad Dreams by Anne Fine
‘What ho, Mel!’ he offered. ‘A trouble shared is a trouble halved?’
I shook my head. ‘No, thanks. It’s too private .’
‘Write it down, then,’ he told me. ‘If something’s gnawing at you, shove it on paper.’
I waved at the books round us, shelf upon shelf of them, up to the ceiling.
‘Is that what the writers of some of these were doing?’