Extra Extra-ing Our News to the World

in which my husband and son embark on a Tomorrow project

Tomorrow newsstand ad, designed by William Sulit and placed by Jeremy William Sulit

My husband is an architect and graphic designer, a ceramicist and painter. I am (for better or worse) a word-and rhythm-obsessed individual with a deepening passion for paper. Our son is a synthesizer of trends and data, a radically fine listener, a storyteller and story maker, an entrepreneur who, among other things, has built a strategic media consultancy that has already served nearly 100 businesses looking to strengthen their brand.

This past month we took a journey.

It was my husband’s idea, a notion floated over breakfast. “Beth,” he said. “Why not a billboard?”

You’d have to know just how humble and utterly non-self-promotional my husband is to understand why I laughed out loud. A billboard announcing my new book, he meant. A bigger-than-life image, above some Philadelphia highway, celebrating a Philadelphia story by me, a Philadelphia-area author.

“Sure,” I said. “Good one.” And shook my head.

But the idea took hold—this something undeniable about the fun we as a family would have. Jeremy would take the strategic media lead—locating just the right venue and negotiating the fee. Bill would design the ad—a somewhat meta undertaking since the book’s jacket already features his oil painting and typography. I’d stand in the middle and stand to the side, watching them work, still shaking my head.

I had what we shall call a minor budget. Billboards are relatively expensive. But Jeremy is (as his other clients will tell you) quietly, persistently creative. My novel is called Tomorrow Will Bring Sunday’s News; it was built, in part, with old newspaper headlines. What would you think, Jeremy texted one day, of advertising your newspapery book on a newspaper stand?

Yes, I said at once. Can we afford it?

Jeremy made some calls. He did his negotiating thing. He returned with a plan—a PDF presentation listing available sites, costs, and eyeball stats. The opportunity? A seven-foot by four-foot back-lit poster. The impact? Visibility to some half-million passersby over the course of April. Perfect, I said, claiming a newsstand at 16th and Walnut Streets as my own.

Within a day Bill was at work on a design—making his sketches, testing a scheme, studying old newspapers for the look and sound of extra-extra drama, and typesetting (we’ll call it typesetting) those beautiful Booklist words by Carol Haggas. Every now and then I’d visit him at work. I’d shake my head. Blush. Laugh to myself. Stop blushing. I’d think about how much joy this funny project had brought at a time when I wasn’t otherwise feeling so jolly.

(Which is a point I wish to reiterate: Our lives are still our lives. It is imperative, still, to have some fun, to laugh out loud, to dream big. Even as we attend to the business before us.)

On March 31st, the poster will be headed for the city, my city. A big old poster on a Philadelphia newsstand, courtesy of the ingenuity and talent of my husband and my son. If you happen to pass by, perhaps you’ll let me know. Perhaps you’ll send me news of extra extra.