Chapter 82: Cards Instead of Banners
I traded a banner with my face on it for a card a bookseller could actually use.
On Thursday morning, the first printed proof sat beneath the supplier's camera.
Its front offered one hundred and twenty words and no room for a family history.
The title, Seven Calls from Saltmere, occupied the first clean line.
Below it, I wrote only the new book's harbour, corrected ledger and seventh-call premise.
North Quay's marketing coordinator struck my first attempt to explain Marian Crowe underneath.
The card face had to sell the book that the shop was being asked to stock.
I moved every old-name fact off the front.
The reverse already carried the approved FAQ link and its version date.
That page explained the joint-approval rule, continuing old editions and two independent projects.
It did not publish private messages, bank figures or the unverified German audio question.
The supplier offered a shortened web address and a square code pointing to the same approved page.
I checked both routes on an isolated preview device.
Each opened the current FAQ rather than a marketing redirect or tracking profile.
The coordinator set the link report to count visits without retaining reader identity.
It recorded date, broad referral category and selected public section only.
The dashboard would not expose a single person's route back to a shop, household or purchase, even to me as the author.
No name, email address, device identifier or individual reading path entered my view.
Four booksellers joined the proof call with the card displayed at actual counter size.
One wanted the old pen name on the front because customers still asked for it.
I declined and showed her the reverse-side route.
The front belonged entirely to Saltmere.
The back answered the rights question through wording already approved by both creators.
Another bookseller asked whether staff could photograph the card for social posts.
The coordinator allowed the new-book face and the public FAQ link, not handwritten customer notes.
We added that limit to the shop instruction rather than trusting an informal promise.
The supplier corrected the proof while everyone watched.
She increased the title size and removed a decorative fog motif that competed with the text.
The crossed-out seventh line remained the only cover device reproduced on the card.
I approved the front as new-book material only.
I approved the reverse as a route to the factual FAQ, not a second advertisement.
The supplier saved the two faces as separate locked layers with one combined print hash.
North Quay stored the approval, invoice and shop instructions in my marketing file.
The first independent shop confirmed six sets for its counters and events.
Three more shops on the call adopted the same format without requesting altered facts.
The coordinator then opened the pending retailer list.
Ten additional independents had reviewed the digital proof overnight.
Each confirmed adoption through its own account rather than one bulk marketing promise.
The confirmations specified placement at staff desks, counters or event tables, but they did not promise sales, windows or permanent stock.
The total reached fourteen shops.
No adoption restored the cancelled chain window or the abandoned national stands.
The cards created fourteen small tools, not one uniform campaign.
At 11:26, the supplier released the compact print run.
The fulfilment desk received a shop-by-shop quantity list and no customer data.
I watched the first link summary populate from the proof users.
The report grouped every click and suppressed categories below the privacy threshold.
The Saltmere introduction drew a brief cluster of visits.
The events section drew fewer.
The longest aggregate dwell time appeared somewhere I had not designed the card to emphasise.
Readers were opening the approved question headed WHO WROTE THE OLD BOOKS?
They stayed there longer than they stayed on the new-book synopsis.
My useful little card had carried the old argument straight back into the shop.