My first singing lesson was a lot of fun. I was terrified.

It was peculiar. I don't normally get crippling stage fright -- not for speaking, anyhow. But Andre said, "All right, what are you going to sing for me?" and the bottom dropped out of my guts.

Sing? I could sing? What had I been going to sing? I dithered around the room a bit, and ended up singing Black Coffee staring fixedly at the wall.

"There," he said, "that was fine. I've heard much, much worse!"

Then he told me all about his theory, which is that every person is gifted with a unique and beautiful sound that only they can produce. "It's your job to find that sound. And it may not be a 'pretty' sound. Louis Armstrong, probably one of the most influential singers in the last hundred years. His voice is utterly unique. Billie Holiday. Janis Joplin is a bit much for me, but still. Unique sound."

This, of course, was the prequel to us making awful music together. No, not music. Exercises. Hard and soft, chest and head.

I have been practising, every day, in the car. And angsting about headshots. In order to take acting classes, it seems, I need a headshot, and a resume. I have no idea how to judge. "It should look like you." But also like "your type." What's my type? Crazy aging Bohemian, I think.