Just Carly
Copyright© 2026 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 8: Westmouth
First proper day
Monday, January 13 2014 · 8:57 a.m. · Westmouth · Private
I have my guitar, my notebook, three pens because I don’t trust any one pen, and the folder of unfinished songs I spent half of last night pretending to organise.
Yesterday’s meeting was easy to enjoy because nobody expected us to do much beyond talk. Today they expect me to bring those scraps into a room with microphones in it.
I know Harry and Ellie. We made “A Woman’s Work” together. I trust them. That doesn’t stop me wanting to turn around and check whether I packed the good half of my ideas.
I took Pappy’s guitar out of its case before breakfast just to make sure it was all right after the trip. Of course it was. I think I was checking on myself.
Time to go.
Things I want to remember: morning
Monday, January 13 2014 · 10:46 a.m. · Westmouth · Private
We took the picture outside first. Ellie checked my hair, Harry asked whether he was supposed to look serious, and I said absolutely not. I posted it once we got inside. Six minutes later, somebody wanted to know when the album would be out.
Here is what we’ve actually done so far.
Harry asked me to play something I know well so he could hear me settle into the room. I chose an older song because I didn’t want my first act here to be apologising for an unfinished one. Ellie sat in the control room with her notebook and listened without writing anything down. That was somehow more unnerving than if she’d covered three pages.
Then we talked about what I do when I’m writing alone. I told them I usually sing an idea before I can explain it, and that if I stop to find the right word too soon, I lose the melody. Ellie said, “Then don’t stop.” Harry set up a recorder so I can play things through, even when I’m certain they aren’t songs yet.
He also asked me to sing the same bit a few different ways. The first time, I gave it everything. The second, he asked me to imagine I was singing it to one person sitting across a kitchen table. I felt foolish until he played them back. I could hear why he’d asked.
No magic discovery. But I’m already less afraid of getting something wrong in front of them.
Pizza, and a question
Monday, January 13 2014 · 12:53 p.m. · Westmouth · Private
Harry really did say “one more time” about five times. I have informed the internet. The internet has informed him that he has to feed me.
The pictures at the microphone and through the glass look like we spent the whole morning recording an album. We spent maybe twenty minutes at a time in there, with much longer stretches listening, talking and going back to try again. We moved things around and took each photograph on purpose. I like them. I also want to remember all the parts when nobody thought to lift a camera.
Just before lunch, Ellie asked which songs on my first two albums still feel like me when I sing them now. I gave her an answer. She asked if it would be the same answer if nobody from I-40 was in the room.
I laughed, then had to think.
She didn’t push me. We ate pizza on the sofas, and Harry told us about a take he once lost because he’d assumed everybody would remember what they’d just played. After lunch we’re going to listen to some of my phone recordings, including the one I nearly deleted on the flight over.
I haven’t told Ellie which one that is. I hope she can’t tell from my face.
The kitchen cupboard recording
Monday, January 13 2014 · 2:51 p.m. · Westmouth · Private
Ellie knew.
I played the little recording from my kitchen in Nashville, and I watched her notice when I reached for my phone to stop it. She put her hand over mine and let the rest play.
It isn’t a song. There’s a melody for part of a verse, a few words I might keep, and me muttering because I forgot the next chord. I recorded it in the kitchen because I’d gone in there for water and didn’t want to wake anyone by trying it properly.
Harry asked me to play it on the Hummingbird. Ellie took her guitar and followed along, then stopped me when I began explaining all the things wrong with it. She asked what I’d been thinking about that night. We talked for longer than it would have taken to play the whole thing a dozen times.
I don’t know if that idea will ever become a song. That was the first useful thing I learned today: I’m allowed to bring them something without promising it belongs on the record.
The photograph of us with our guitars looks peaceful. About a minute before it, I was saying, “I don’t know,” and Ellie was saying, “That’s fine. What do you know?” That conversation is what I want to remember.
Six photographs, zero songs
Monday, January 13 2014 · 4:49 p.m. · Westmouth · Private
I counted because somebody in the comments counted for me. Six Instagram posts today. If I keep that up, I’ll need to hire somebody whose only job is telling me to put my phone down.
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