Your details, and what I do with them.

If you’re just reading

Not much happens. The fonts are served from this domain rather than borrowed from Google, so the page itself doesn’t quietly call out to anyone. The one thing that measures anything is analytics — see below. It’s your call, you can switch it off, and for readers in the EU, EEA and UK it starts switched off until you opt in.

One small thing, and it’s a dull one: if you arrive from a link that says where you came from — a post, an ad, the back of a book — the site remembers that word (something like instagram) for the length of your visit, so that if you do join the list I know which door you came through. It’s stored in your own browser, it disappears when you close the tab, it isn’t a cookie, it can’t identify you, and it never leaves your browser unless you choose to sign up.

My host keeps ordinary web-server logs, as every web server does. They include IP addresses and are kept briefly for security and to keep the site standing up.

Analytics, and why

I write these books without a publisher behind me, which means the only way anyone finds them is if I work out what’s actually working. That’s what the analytics is for. I’d rather tell you plainly than bury it.

I use Google Analytics, loaded through Google Tag Manager. It counts visits — which pages get read, roughly where readers are, which link brought them — and to do that it sets cookies and can recognise you on other sites. It’s run by Google under their own privacy policy, not mine, and once the data’s with them it’s genuinely with them.

It runs under Google’s Consent Mode. If you’re in the EU, EEA or UK it stays off until you opt in — until then Google receives only anonymous, cookieless counts. Everywhere else it’s on by default, and pressing “No thanks” switches it off: no cookies, and nothing that recognises you. Either way the site reads exactly the same.

Changed your mind, either direction? Ask me again .

If you join the postcard list

You give me two things:

• Your name — so a postcard can be addressed to you.
• Your email — so a postcard can reach you.

Alongside those, my newsletter service records:

• Roughly where you are — the country your signup came from, worked out from your connection. Not an address; a country.
• Which door you came through — the word mentioned above.
• Whether you open the postcards — the ordinary open-and-click counting every newsletter does, which mostly tells me whether the writing’s landing.

You’ll be asked to confirm by email before anything is sent. That’s deliberate: it means nobody can add you to my list but you.

Who else touches it

These work for me, and only do what I ask:

• MailerLite stores the list and sends the postcards. They’re based in the EU.
• Netlify serves this website and keeps those server logs. They’re based in the US.
• Google runs the analytics — Google Analytics, loaded through Google Tag Manager — on their own terms, subject to the consent choice above. They’re based in the US.

I don’t sell the list, rent it, swap it, or hand it to anybody — and I’d be a fool to, because it’s the only thing I have.

How long I keep it

Until you leave, or until I stop writing. If you unsubscribe, your address stays on a small suppression list so my newsletter service knows never to email you again — which is a slightly awkward way of saying the only reason I remember you is so I can keep not bothering you. Ask and I’ll erase it entirely instead.

What you can ask for

A copy of what I hold, a correction, or deletion — no reason needed and no hard feelings. Depending on where you live you may have these rights formally; you have them here regardless. Email hello@annaeverly.com and I’ll sort it out.

The fastest way to leave is the unsubscribe link at the foot of any postcard. It’s instant and it doesn’t ask you to explain yourself.

Getting hold of me

hello@annaeverly.com reaches me. Replies to any postcard do too.

If this changes

If I ever add anything else that watches you, this page changes first, and the postcard list hears about it. I’d rather tell you than have you find out.

Last updated 22 August 2026.