WEINSTEIN, beatrice ilana

[beatrice]

beatrice ilana weinstein.

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/ i want to voice this out loud

full name. beatrice ilana weinstein
stage name. beatrice weinstein
nicknames. bea
age dob. thirty-four, seven december nineteen hundred and seventy-six
gender. female
sexual orientation. heterosexual
career. crew member, screenwriter, aspiring director
hometown. new york, new york


/ it's therapeutic somehow

height. five feet and seven inches
eyes. brown
hair. dark brown
build. slim, boyish
distinguishing features. wide smile, awkward facial expressions, mole beside her left eye
play-by. shannyn sossamon


/ so i'm moving to new york

loves. being nearly nocturnal, the city, cigarettes, snail mail, journaling, vintage dresses, relative anonymity, dancing, observing, black licorice.
hates. mornings, running, actors (generally speaking, of course), driving, talking on the phone, linen clothing, deadlines, commitment, chocolate, teen comedies.
quirks. has to smoke while she writes, rocks out to cher in her house to get out of a bad mood (it's a similar visual to tom cruise in risky business), eats her food in order by color, saves all of her old journals in a trunk
aspirations. to be part of a television comedy writing team, to find a way to be happy and still write well, to keep from getting wrapped up in the hollywood facade
secrets. she can't imagine herself in a functional relationship with a man because that's boring. she is convinced that she'll self-destruct before she reaches age fifty.
personality evaluated. bea, as she prefers to be called, is not exactly what someone might refer to as a "people person." she doesn't have an ounce of social grace in her body, so she does her best to avoid situations in which her awkwardness would be put on display, such as in the limelight of the entertainment industry. she works behind the scenes for a reason. well, the main reason is that she just so happens to have a knack for screenwriting. the other reason is secondary. she's a fairly anti-social woman, unless she finds herself in the company of her closest friends. that's likely true about almost anyone though. she has a sharp wit and enjoys irony and sarcasm in her humor, though her deadpan tone often renders her jokes imperceptible to those who are unfamiliar with her wisecracks, which gives her the tendency of looking like an asshole or an idiot. she can be a jerk, mostly because she it's important that she speak her mind. she's blunt and generally refuses to sugarcoat her words, which occasionally rubs people the wrong way. it's one of the reasons she finds that she doesn't get along with many of the "hollywood type" actors, the type who dedicate the bulk of their focus on presenting a certain public image that severely deviates from their true selves. it applies to all people, not just actors, but bea finds it especially irritating in actors. another reasons for her distaste stems from the general disregard for the screenwriter's original work. it's an industry standard, but it still bugs her. she often wishes that she wrote for the stage instead of the screen, but she gave up that thought a long time ago when she compared the potential paychecks. ultimately, screenwriters make much more money, and though she hates to admit it, she chose the cash. she aspires to become a director, largely in order to preserve the creative vision in her scripts.

although she isn't a social butterfly, bea enjoys being in crowds. she likes the idea of being surrounded by others, even if she isn't directly involved with their lives. she is very observant and enjoys people-watching. she finds that it helps her develop characters for her scripts. she also loves incorporating events from her life, which is why she always carries around a small journal so that she can write down anything of interest for later. while she may appear to favor a quiet life to go along with her quiet demeanor, she finds herself attracted to dramatic situations. she would never say it out loud, but she thinks happiness and agreement incredibly boring and seeks out drama and discord, whether as a participant or a spectator. she's the queen of dysfunctional relationships, and often finds herself unhappy as a result of her own doing. she doesn't yell and scream and cry. she certainly doesn't strike other people (unless they really deserve it). she does, however, use words as her weapon of choice, and she thrives on it. she is very competitive, but has a great deal of respect for anyone who can best her in a verbal confrontation. that doesn't mean that she likes them though. she believes that there is a big difference between liking a person and having respect for a person. they aren't necessarily mutually exclusive, but she can respect someone she doesn't like, or vice versa.

bea is attracted from things of the past. she loves anything vintage and often outfits herself entirely in vintage clothing. she does have a cell phone and a computer, but she doesn't like them very much. she prefers contacting people by snail mail because she thinks there is something to be said about receiving a letter from someone since it takes considerably more effort than sending an email or a text message. she hates text messages with a passion. when she write, she prefers to do it by hand or with a manual typewriter. as a result, she is very good with spelling and grammar, which is something she takes pride in. she thinks it's ridiculous that there are people in the world who call themselves writers, yet they can't write anything worthwhile without the aid of spellcheck or similar computerized review systems. perhaps she has a hint of elitism in her personality. well, it's more than a hint. she justifies it by telling herself that, by mastering basic spelling and grammar, she is, in fact, a better writer than others because those elements are integral to writing well. she is extremely self-critical though, so don't let her confidence in that particular aspect present the wrong impression. she's actually extremely self-critical, more so than with any other person.


/ i've got issues with my sleep

father. jacob abraham weinstein , sixty-one , accountant.
mother. anna maria russo , deceased , waitress.
siblings. miriam sophia weinstein , twenty-eight , actress.
pets. none.
other family. none.
history evaluated.

• bea was born and raised in manhattan. her mother, anna, was married to her father, jacob, for very short period of time. they divorced when bea was two years old. anna had full custody of bea. she rarely saw her father and, since her mother was a waitress, lived a modest lifestyle.
  
• jacob remarried a few years after the divorce and had a daughter, miriam, with his new wife. bea had little interest in miriam, particularly as a child since she was eight years older than her. jacob's new wife came from a wealthy family, so their lifestyle was also strikingly different than what bea was used to. not to mention, their personalities just didn't mesh.
  
• bea received slightly above average marks throughout her years in elementary, middle, and high school. her skills in writing emerged at a young age. she attended pratt institute in brooklyn on scholarships, merit and need-based, and earned her bachelors degree in writing with all intentions of attending a graduate program for playwrights.
  
• after being denied from the handful of play writing programs she applied to straight out of undergraduate, she entered the work world as an executive assistant at a publishing house. simultaneously, she wrote and submitted scripts to various theatres in the area, all with the same response: no, thanks.
  
• during her year off, a friend pushed her into screenwriting for a short film. the film ran the festival circuit, but nothing came out of it. however, bea decided to shift her focus to writing for the screen after noticing the higher potential for success. she worked on polishing her skills before applying and being accepted into nyu's film school. she completed her masters in dramatic writing with a concentration in screenwriting at nyu. she was well aware that a degree with not necessary, but felt it important that she complete the program to get her foot in the door.
  
• after finding little work opportunities in manhattan, bea decided that she needed to relocate to los angeles to get more connections with the industry. if she wanted to make a living screenwriting, she felt that it was necessary. at age twenty-nine, she made the cross-country move.
  
• bea's mother died about six months after she made it to los angeles. when bea went to manhattan for the funeral, she reconnected with her father, who told her that miriam, her half-sister, was also living in la with hopes of becoming a movie star. upon returning to california, bea met up with miriam and found that she disliked her just as much as she always had, but made an effort to include her in her life since her mother's death had reminded her of the importance of family, and miriam was family.
  
• bea worked in food service as she continued to write after finding that she couldn't pay the bills on writing alone. she had scripted a handful of independent films, but breaking into the mainstream was a lot harder than she originally thought.
  
• bea met carlos, a sculptor, when she was thirty-one, which spiraled into a fast-paced, tumultuous relationship. They were initially engaged within months, but they broke the engagement and got reengaged several times over the course of two and a half years. the two never did manage to get married. the whole thing ended for good shortly after bea miscarried their child.
  
• bea found that her sister was good for something after miriam introduced her to a director who was quite interested in her work. bea hopes that this will be her transition into mainstream. she aspires to directing her own films someday, but, in the meantime, she'll settle for just providing the script. after all, a girl has to eat, doesn't she?
  

/ christmas came early for me

alias. ellie
years of rp experience. oh, um...ten-ish?
other characters. none
how did you find us. caution
roleplay sample.

“I’ll have a glass of…do you have sangria?” Melinda casually asked a member of the wait staff as she sat perched in her chair in front of a preset dining table for two on the patio of one of the most buzzed-about restaurants in town. Upon receiving confirmation from the waiter, Melinda’s lips curled into a smile. “Great. I’ll have one, no, two glasses of your white,” she said politely. The summer was getting into full swing and Melinda found the weather perfect for the cool, fruity drink. Although the clock had barely transitioned into the afternoon hours, Melinda felt that a drink was customary with business meeting meals. She hailed from a generation raised by those who practically invented the cocktail lunch hour, so question of this routine never once entered her mind. It was simply what one did at a business lunch. She hoped that taking the liberty to order in advance for her company would not offend her new business partner. She doubted it. She admittedly did not know Annie very well, but, judging by what Melinda considered to be a humble background, she doubted the young lady would voice any objections.

Melinda adjusted herself in her chair, making sure that she was completely in the shade of the large center umbrella extending from the center of the table. She couldn’t risk exposing her porcelain skin to the midday sun. Even with copious amounts of sunscreen, her extremely fair, almost ghostly complexion demanded constant consideration or she would risk it turning bright red, as if it were punishing her for her inattentiveness like a vindictive child. She wholeheartedly believed in the old-school notion that paleness was a sign of wealth and prosperity. However, she failed to recognize that it could have also presented the image of washed-up, has-been socialite who has been out of the loop, so to speak, for so long that getting a handle on the upper class’s modernity far exceeded her capacity. It had been the mid-1990s when she had last experienced prosperity. Since then, she had been faking it, and her act was bound to catch up with her sooner or later. She was banking on it being later, literally.

She was meeting with her new-ish business partner to discuss their plans to open a new dance studio in town. The idea of running a dance school made her slightly sick to her stomach. The old saying ran through her head on repeat, “Those who cannot do teach.” It had been decades, more than a quarter of a century, since she had gone to an audition in New York, but opening a dance school seemed like the ultimate admission of defeat. Unfortunately, she needed to do something to earn money. At the moment, her oldest son was the only Reinhardt bringing home a paycheck, and it just wasn’t cutting it. In fact, a large portion of his last check went toward paying for the low-end designer sunglasses that rested atop the bridge of her nose, which she knew she would hear about when she returned home. Of course, the irony of the whole situation was that Melinda was understood as the financial backer for the project. After all, as far as anyone else knew, the Reinhardt family was swimming in cash to the point that they had secret rooms filled to the brim with bank notes, jewels, and other such currencies. The scenario would be absolutely hilarious if it wasn’t so utterly pathetic.

“Thank you, dear,” Melinda said, snapping out of her inner monologue as the waiter returned with two glasses of sangria and set one before each chair. Although she had been a smoker for nearly 35 years, her voice was strangely smooth, with a certain regal quality to it. Speaking of smoking, she really could have used a cigarette right about then. Every time she met with Annie, she had to combat an overwhelming feeling of dread that she carefully concealed from outward expression, or so she hoped. Over the past decade and a half, Melinda had heavily relied on a skill she had supposedly mastered at a young age: the ability to appear calm and nonchalant in times of severe emotional distress. Lately, she had been doubting her proficiency, but she could not determine if she was truly losing her touch or if she was just paranoid because her new business venture raised the stakes.She shook her head slightly. She couldn’t get her mind turning with those thoughts right before Annie was scheduled to join her. Then, she would certainly be setting herself up for disaster. Instead, she straightened her posture and glanced at her watch. It was five minutes until the hour, which meant that she could probably expect her guest to arrive very shortly. She sighed quietly and tried to look as though she fit in at the establishment as she waited for Annie to turn up.

[itsdayna]

i love that she's an aspiring director!