Although short of being controversial, “The Method” is still a much-discussed and debated technique (and not only on Inside the Actors Studio.) To boil down The Method technique, the actor calls upon his/her own past emotional experiences to create the character’s emotions. So when your character’s child gets run over by a train, you think about when you had to put your dog to sleep. Does The Method mean that actors with dramatic and turmoil-filled pasts have an advantage over actors who’ve had a happy and uneventful existence?

I’ve noticed that some great actors, while not renouncing The Method, have stated that they don’t draw upon personal experiences – they try to be “there” with their character and feel what the character is feeling, not what they’d be feeling in a similar situation. This got me thinking: yes, you can use The Method to become a good actor, a competent actor, even an entirely believable actor. But great actors have something else – probably something on a different plane. It’s about letting go of who you are; not holding onto it.

The follow-up e-mails I sent after the showcase seemingly paid off. I got an audition for an agent. When I got the invitation I was so excited; I jumped up and down, then quickly thought it must be a scam. However, I called Equity and the agent was legit, so I prepared a monologue.

On the audition day, I sat in a waiting room (really just an area sectioned off by a black curtain) with a few other tall blondes. Agents need to fill their books with all types, and not too many of any particular type, so it looked like we were all competing for the same opening.

I heard some yelling from behind the curtain – part of someone’s scene, I hoped. When the yelling stopped, an assistant opened the curtain and announced it was my turn. As I walked in, I immediately regretted wearing the spike-heeled boots. I was teetering all over the place. No balance… and I hadn’t even started the monologue yet.

I delivered part of a scene from a new play called Married Men. My character was talking about how she never sees her workaholic husband. Nikolai, the Easter European director listened intently. Then he said “Very good. Now, what do you think she was feeling inside? Is she angry?” I remembered the yelling, and didn’t want to do a repeat performance of the last victim. “I think she’s really sad, actually.” Nikolai told me to think about someone that had made me sad. “Now, let’s hear what you would say to them.” After improvising a scene, I was instructed to do the monologue again, “in your own time…”

I thought about being there; being the character and not me; being on a higher plane… and then, I thought about putting my dog down. I gave the monologue, and I cried.

So maybe I’m not great, but I can be good, which – was luck would have it – was good enough to get an agent.