David P. Dart's Blog
October 18, 2025
The Challenges of Writing Skim
When I started writing Skim (originally titled Echoes of a Fraction), I thought the hardest part would be getting the technical details right about how financial systems work, how money moves invisibly through code, and with a few lines of logic you can change everything.
I was wrong.
The real challenge turned out to be psychological. Skim isn’t just about technology or finance , it’s about temptation. It’s about how a good person, under pressure, can start rationalizing small decisions that slowly turn catastrophic. Writing that descent honestly meant stepping into my protagonist’s head and staying there for long stretches. It was exhausting and sometimes uncomfortably close to real experiences I’d seen in the corporate world.
There were days I’d walk away from the keyboard thinking, What would I have done in his place? And the truth was, I wasn’t always sure.
Another surprise was how much emotional energy it took to make the story believable. Financial thrillers risk becoming either too dry or too far-fetched. My goal was to make readers feel the pulse of that environment, the moral ambiguity, the pressure, the slow erosion of conscience — without losing the human story at its core.
And then there’s the title itself. The word “Skim” captures both the act and the mentality taking just a little off the top, convincing yourself it’s harmless, until it isn’t. Finding that single word felt like a breakthrough, as if the whole book finally understood what it wanted to be.
Looking back, writing Skim taught me that stories about money are rarely just about money. They’re about people our fears, ambitions, and the dangerous comfort of compromise.
If you’ve ever worked in a high-pressure world or made a choice that kept you up at night, you’ll recognize the heartbeat behind this story.
David Dart
I was wrong.
The real challenge turned out to be psychological. Skim isn’t just about technology or finance , it’s about temptation. It’s about how a good person, under pressure, can start rationalizing small decisions that slowly turn catastrophic. Writing that descent honestly meant stepping into my protagonist’s head and staying there for long stretches. It was exhausting and sometimes uncomfortably close to real experiences I’d seen in the corporate world.
There were days I’d walk away from the keyboard thinking, What would I have done in his place? And the truth was, I wasn’t always sure.
Another surprise was how much emotional energy it took to make the story believable. Financial thrillers risk becoming either too dry or too far-fetched. My goal was to make readers feel the pulse of that environment, the moral ambiguity, the pressure, the slow erosion of conscience — without losing the human story at its core.
And then there’s the title itself. The word “Skim” captures both the act and the mentality taking just a little off the top, convincing yourself it’s harmless, until it isn’t. Finding that single word felt like a breakthrough, as if the whole book finally understood what it wanted to be.
Looking back, writing Skim taught me that stories about money are rarely just about money. They’re about people our fears, ambitions, and the dangerous comfort of compromise.
If you’ve ever worked in a high-pressure world or made a choice that kept you up at night, you’ll recognize the heartbeat behind this story.
David Dart
October 15, 2025
The Thin Line Between Right and Wrong
Every story begins with a question.
For Planted, mine was simple:
How far would an ordinary person go to do what they believe is right — when the world around them insists it’s wrong?
During my years in corporate banking and technology, I watched brilliant people wrestle with decisions that never made the headlines but changed careers — and lives. Most didn’t start out corrupt or cynical. They started out decent, ambitious, and eager to make a difference. Somewhere along the way, pressure, politics, and power began to blur the edges.
That’s what fascinated me when I began writing Planted. Not the crime itself, but the justifications — the quiet logic that creeps in when we tell ourselves “just this once.”
In fiction, those moments make for gripping drama.
In real life, they’re far more uncomfortable — because they feel familiar.
So here’s what I’d love to know from you:
👉 Do you believe most people would do the right thing if no one ever found out they didn’t?
I’d be genuinely interested to hear your thoughts — readers, writers, professionals, anyone who’s ever faced a gray-area moment.
— David Dart
📘 Planted (available now: https://a.co/d/7QGAemz)
For Planted, mine was simple:
How far would an ordinary person go to do what they believe is right — when the world around them insists it’s wrong?
During my years in corporate banking and technology, I watched brilliant people wrestle with decisions that never made the headlines but changed careers — and lives. Most didn’t start out corrupt or cynical. They started out decent, ambitious, and eager to make a difference. Somewhere along the way, pressure, politics, and power began to blur the edges.
That’s what fascinated me when I began writing Planted. Not the crime itself, but the justifications — the quiet logic that creeps in when we tell ourselves “just this once.”
In fiction, those moments make for gripping drama.
In real life, they’re far more uncomfortable — because they feel familiar.
So here’s what I’d love to know from you:
👉 Do you believe most people would do the right thing if no one ever found out they didn’t?
I’d be genuinely interested to hear your thoughts — readers, writers, professionals, anyone who’s ever faced a gray-area moment.
— David Dart
📘 Planted (available now: https://a.co/d/7QGAemz)
September 27, 2025
Who knew??.. Not me!!
When I started writing Planted, I genuinely believed the toughest part would be finishing the manuscript — actually putting 260 pages together and calling it a novel. And I was wrong.
Writing the book turned out to be the easy part. Marketing it? That’s a whole different story.
There’s no manual, no clear roadmap, and certainly no magic button. Most days it feels like I’m stumbling around in the dark, trying one thing after another and hoping something sticks...
Fellow writers: did you find the same thing? And readers: how do you usually discover a new book?
Writing the book turned out to be the easy part. Marketing it? That’s a whole different story.
There’s no manual, no clear roadmap, and certainly no magic button. Most days it feels like I’m stumbling around in the dark, trying one thing after another and hoping something sticks...
Fellow writers: did you find the same thing? And readers: how do you usually discover a new book?
September 26, 2025
From Boardrooms to Bookstores: The Real-World Story Behind Planted
For more than thirty years, I lived in a world of power, pressure, and billion-dollar decisions. My career in banking and technology took me deep inside the machinery of global finance — boardrooms where fortunes were made and lost, where ambition and ego collided, and where the line between right and wrong was often more suggestion than rule. It was challenging, often exhilarating — and at times deeply frustrating. But behind all the spreadsheets and strategy decks, there was always another world quietly taking shape in my mind.
Planted has lived in my head for more than fifteen years. The characters, the conflicts, the moral gray zones — they’ve all been there, whispering for attention, waiting for me to stop making excuses. I always told myself I was too busy. Or that writing a novel was something other people did. Or that no one would care what I had to say. The truth is, I just didn’t have the confidence.
Retirement changed that. Stepping away from corporate life created the space — and maybe the courage — to finally give this story the attention it deserved. And once I started, I realised something surprising: writing isn’t about being fearless. It’s about showing up every day, word by word, even when you’re convinced it’s not good enough. Somewhere along the way, the doubts grew quieter, and the story that had been sitting in my head for years began to take shape on the page.
At its heart, Planted is a corporate-finance thriller — but it’s also about people. It’s about loyalty and betrayal, ambition and fear, power and the ways it’s abused. It’s about what happens when the lines between right and wrong blur, and when doing the “right” thing might cost you everything. The story is fiction, but it was very much inspired by my decades in the financial world. Many of the situations, power struggles, and ethical dilemmas that shape the narrative are composites of experiences I’ve lived through, witnessed firsthand, or encountered along the way. It’s not a memoir — but it’s definitely grounded in reality.
This book is deeply personal to me because it represents much more than a story. It’s proof that it’s never too late to try something new — to chase the creative dreams you once dismissed as unrealistic. And it’s a reminder that the stories we carry with us, no matter how long they’ve been tucked away, deserve to be told.
So, to anyone reading this: thank you for being here. If you decide to pick up Planted, I hope it grips you from the first page. I hope it makes you think, makes you question, and maybe even makes you see the corporate world a little differently. But more than anything, I hope it reminds you that even the stories buried deepest inside us can find their way to the surface — if we’re willing to let them.
Planted has lived in my head for more than fifteen years. The characters, the conflicts, the moral gray zones — they’ve all been there, whispering for attention, waiting for me to stop making excuses. I always told myself I was too busy. Or that writing a novel was something other people did. Or that no one would care what I had to say. The truth is, I just didn’t have the confidence.
Retirement changed that. Stepping away from corporate life created the space — and maybe the courage — to finally give this story the attention it deserved. And once I started, I realised something surprising: writing isn’t about being fearless. It’s about showing up every day, word by word, even when you’re convinced it’s not good enough. Somewhere along the way, the doubts grew quieter, and the story that had been sitting in my head for years began to take shape on the page.
At its heart, Planted is a corporate-finance thriller — but it’s also about people. It’s about loyalty and betrayal, ambition and fear, power and the ways it’s abused. It’s about what happens when the lines between right and wrong blur, and when doing the “right” thing might cost you everything. The story is fiction, but it was very much inspired by my decades in the financial world. Many of the situations, power struggles, and ethical dilemmas that shape the narrative are composites of experiences I’ve lived through, witnessed firsthand, or encountered along the way. It’s not a memoir — but it’s definitely grounded in reality.
This book is deeply personal to me because it represents much more than a story. It’s proof that it’s never too late to try something new — to chase the creative dreams you once dismissed as unrealistic. And it’s a reminder that the stories we carry with us, no matter how long they’ve been tucked away, deserve to be told.
So, to anyone reading this: thank you for being here. If you decide to pick up Planted, I hope it grips you from the first page. I hope it makes you think, makes you question, and maybe even makes you see the corporate world a little differently. But more than anything, I hope it reminds you that even the stories buried deepest inside us can find their way to the surface — if we’re willing to let them.
