Model Writer

I did not enjoy reading when I was a kid. This was an attitude my mom and dad could not understand. Try as they might to share their love of books with me, I wasn’t interested.

My parents decided not to take my blasé attitude toward literary adventure lying down. No sir, something had to be wrong, so they had me tested by specialists. Not only did they find out I was a bright child—they had suspected as much—they also discovered I had a learning disability.

While I could read, I had zero retention of what I read. Meaning, you could write down your deepest darkest secret, and trust full well that said information would be safe with me so long as you didn’t tell it to me audibly. In direct opposition to my inability to retain the written word, I remembered everything I heard.

Fast forward to me growing up in a house with a highly intelligent and voraciously inquisitive older brother. If left to his own devices Reiner would have had his nose buried in a book 24-7. The world at large, and the school system in particular, deemed him the smart one. It was a title I dreamed of holding with every fiber of my being.

Sitting in the library at school, I used to stare at all the books I wasn’t reading. I wondered at the amazing sense of accomplishment authors must feel knowing they’d written a book. It was more likely that I would walk on the moon in a Chanel ballgown than ever achieve such an amazing feat.

I wasn’t the smart one; I was the nice one, the pretty one. These insipid and uninspired adjectives felt like a booby prize that was offered because I had to be known for something. But who wants to be pretty when you can be revered for your intellect?

The specialists assured my parents that as my brain continued to develop, I would start to outgrow my disability. They projected this auspicious event would happen sometime in my mid-teens. I hung on to their prediction with fervor, and lived for the moment when I would enjoy reading– in hopes that I could join my brother in the land of “smart people.”

Once I discovered books in all their glory—and I did— I also came to realize that I didn’t have the same foundation early readers had spent years building. It was like learning how to swim only to be thrown over the side of a boat into the middle of the ocean. No kiddie pool, shallow end, deep end progression for me. It was straight to the sharks.

In my junior year of high school, I tested into the honor’s program. Having spent so many of my formative years feeling lacking, this was a huge win for me. Yet, there was a snag. I had to read books multiple times to grasp enough information to write a report on them. I didn’t want to read The Brothers Karamazov once, let alone four times; and don’t get me started on The Plague.

In college I was discovered by a local Chicago modeling agent. I’d like to say I wasn’t flattered or interested in a nonacademic life, but I was. I started modeling at eighteen before moving to New York City to sign with the Ford Modeling Agency. When I twenty-two, my husband and I moved to Los Angeles where I continued to model until I was forty years old and pregnant with my first child.

During the last ten years of my modeling life, I became quite the proficient baker. Luckily, I was a plus-size model, so I only needed to maintain a size twelve-fourteen on my six-foot one-inch frame. Some might think this an easy task, but alas, I didn’t always find it so. My one hundred percent Eastern-European, peasant-stock genes combined with my love of baked goods made maintaining my size a chore.

Right before Christmas 1999, I accidentally started a cookie basket business when the director of a movie my husband was in asked if I would send some of my baked good to friends of hers. They were to be a thank you gift for hosting her on a wonderful vacation.

I’d never sold my cookies before and didn’t really know what I was doing, but I wasn’t going to say no to the woman employing my husband. The basket was to be delivered to Steven Spielberg and Kate Capshaw. The Spielbergs’ assistance called the next day and said that they wanted to start sending my cookies for their own gifts. Over the years, I became something of a “Cookie Maker to the Stars” as NBC’s celebrity show Extra! coined me.

When I wasn’t modeling or baking, I was devouring as many books as I could get my hands on—mysteries, suspense thrillers, and romances alike. I basically read everything I could, whenever I could.

Then one day I thought back to my childhood. I saw myself sitting in a library staring at all those books and I started to wonder if I should try to write one. I loved imaginary characters, and really wanted to try to create some of my own. But old insecurities came back, and I worried that maybe I still wasn’t smart enough to be an author.

I didn’t get caught up in the negativity for too long though. It wasn’t like I wanted to pen a bestseller in calculus or astrophysics. I simply wanted to write books that would entertain people and make them laugh.

My first novel was published six and a half years ago. I currently have twenty books available on Amazon. I’ve written middle-reader; children’s; thriller; nonfiction humor; and, my all-time favorite, romantic comedy.

My latest release, Ain’t She Sweet, holds a special place in my heart because it’s about a supermodel who gives up life in the fast lane to become a pastry chef in Oregon. Even though I was never supermodel famous, my heroine Tara and I still share a lot of the same views on the things that matter most in life.

Like Tara, I’ve never been afraid to aspire to big things. I also know when it’s time to switch dreams. After the birth of our first child, my husband and I retired from the Hollywood life and moved to small-town Oregon, where all of the books in my latest series take place.
Now all I need to do is borrow a Chanel ballgown and dance on the moon and I’ll be caught up on my childhood dreams.

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Find out more about her on her website https://whitneydineen.com/

AIN’T SHE SWEET, Dineen Whitney

Tara Heinz began her modeling career at the tender age of twelve. After spending fifteen years drooling over forbidden foods, she does the unthinkable. She enrolls in culinary school and becomes a pastry chef.

After a nasty breakup with her rock star boyfriend that leads to tabloid war, Tara takes a job at a rural lodge in Oregon to escape the spotlight she no longer desires.

James Cavanaugh is a farmer in Oregon. His days are spent building his business and his nights are spent sleeping, so he can get up at four in the morning.

Ruby Cavanaugh has plans for her son that involve her new pastry chef. Of course, neither James nor Tara know what’s going on until it’s too late.

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Tags: featured, women writers

Category: On Writing