Where It All Began

I have a lot of new followers on my site these days, so I thought it was time I did a post about how I became a writer started writing. <—-I still cringe at calling myself an author or a writer because it still doesn’t seem real. It doesn’t seem believeable. But I have two published books out there, and three more on the way, so I best get over myself!

Here’s the deal. I lived in darkness with my husband for five long years.

For five long, sad, and somewhat miserable years, we went through a struggle together that no one truly knew the depths of. That bothered me. NO ONE KNEW! It felt like people didn’t really know the real me! Some are the suffer in silence types. Not me. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a loud-mouth, obnoxious, extroverted goof. Middle Child Syndrome through and through.

So, I wanted to change that. I started writing my experience. I thought at first, it would just be something nice to have on a shelf to always remember. Because even though it was sad and tragic, I didn’t want to forget. Then I thought…maybe I’ll let my mom read it. And then it was like, ‘Oh my Gosh, this story is so much more than just my experience. I have to put it out there!’

So, Chasing Hope snow-balled and I cannot begin to tell you what an incredible experience it has been sharing it. Chasing Hope is my family’s true story. If you want to laugh, cry, scream, giggle…you may want to pick it up and read it. I’m incredibly proud of it and it offers a glimpse into a world not many people know about. It will make you want to hug your babies, hug your family members, or just appreciate life more. It’s one of those books that you read and just feel better about life when you’ve finished.

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And if memoirs aren’t your thing…Chasing Hope inspired me to branch out into adult contemporary romance. Writing fiction was a ton of fun for me. A Broken Us was an idea that was inspired by a very small part of Chasing Hope. Sort of a “what if” scenario that popped into my head. I’m incredibly proud of it and the reviews it has received! The next book of this series, Becoming Us, releases in January. 
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Thanks for taking the time to read this post! It’s been a whirlwind of a year, diving into the world of indie publishing. But I’ve met so many incredible people along the way.
And if you don’t follow me on social media…you should totes start. I speak way more candidly over there! 😉
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Nevaeh Peace

In honor of the 1-Year Angelversary of my sixth pregnancy loss, I’d like to share an excerpt from Chasing Peace. Chasing Peace is the sequel to Chasing Hope and tells the story of my beautiful angel, Neveah Peace. She was my most painful loss to date. This is a hard day today and it sometimes feels like it only happened yesterday. I miss you sweet baby, I can still feel you resting quietly on my heart.

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Chasing Peace:
As the medical team pushed the bed and me down the hall, I felt so very alone and so very sad. Kevin was instructed to wait in Labor and Delivery Triage. I can’t imagine the sight of watching your significant other get wheeled away to emergency surgery while you have to stay back, helpless and alone.
I was crying softly when one of the nurses reached under the blanket and grabbed my hand. She rubbed it soothingly as we passed through the maize of hallways and hospital corridors. It felt like we were moving at warp speed, but her strokes were soft and sincere. I remember her telling me over and over that it was going to be all right. She only stopped stroking my hand when we reached the O.R. and they needed to transfer me to the operating table.
Staring up at the ceiling, the medical team all busied themselves prepping me for surgery. Even with a huge team of people around me, it still felt like it was just me and my little baby in the room. I took a moment and rubbed my small belly. I whispered softly, “Good-bye my little fighter. I’m so so sorry this is happening to you. I wish I could have kept you, but I can’t.” I sobbed loudly knowing my baby was alive inside me but they had to take her out anyways. Tears streamed down my temples and into my hairline.
The anesthesiologist came over with a washcloth and wiped away the moisture on my face. He didn’t say anything encouraging. He didn’t tell me I was going to be alright. He just wiped my tears. That silence screamed volumes. He knew. He knew what a horrible and rotten situation this was and since words failed him, he offered a simple touch instead. Eventually he put a mask over my face and told me to take ten deep breaths. Before I passed out, the last thing I remember was my own hand continually rubbing my small belly.
~Chasing Peace, A Memoir by Amy Daws


The mold of our sweet
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Our very special Dragon Fly Christmas tree. An ornament for each sweet angel. 983720_10100730997182963_5730351640912031139_n