David Phillips

David Phillips was born November 13, 1968 in Wales, then as a youngster arrived in Canada clutching tightly to his parents coat tails.
Striving to be Canadian from a young age, David revelled in everything Canadian, enjoying hockey and football.

When the highschool years waned, he became the reluctant odd job seeker, striving while searching for a path in life.

During the struggle to become an accountant, then Chartered Accountant, the affects of schizo-affective disorder took hold, leading David on a disoriented ride.

Music became therapeutic and a desired passion. The telling of his struggles became a need to script this story. A never ending story. This novel is the outcome.

Currently, David sings, plays guitar, and writes music, and continues to strive above a disorder.

David Phillips
ISBN 978-1-894650-64-9
146 pg. (5 ½ X 8 ½)

       I have schizo-affective disorder. While taking an economics course by correspondence, the stress of working and school was too much. I ended up in a the psychiatrist’s office again because I thought TV personalities were giving me special messages and that I had conversed with some rock ‘n’ roll artists through the TV
    “We’ve been waiting for you, David,” said a voice from the TV. The man continued, “Looking for you has bee like looking for a needle in a haystack. What you said was so profound, we followed you like you told us to. We have your money. Ten million dollars. All you have to do is come to Britain and get it. We want to see what you can do.”
    I stammered, “I’m an accountant not a musician. I can’t seven play an instrument.  Just want to be middle classed.”
    These TV personalities were warning me not to go into accounting. I was a writer not an accountant, they said. These artists offered to pay $10 million dollars for having followed me around from 1986 - 1993, and for stealing ideas from me. I believed this was how I was supposed to pay my dues. These writers followed me so they could steal ideas, then pay me what they thought the idea was worth. I flatly turned down the millions because I thought I could make my own money as an accountant. The artists shot back saying that they did not believe me.
    One doctor asked me, “Do you have the ‘Canadian novel’ you’ve been working on under your bed?” Of course the answer was no. All I had under my bed was a Playboy magazine.
    I was not losing my mind, only needed prescription pills to keep me rational. I was rational.
    What is the amazing part of this story is that the character has succeeded beyond the handicaps.
    I found that the character’s altered world is almost a preview of his current life, success as a writer and musician, minus the millions of dollars. Money is not everything.

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