Featherscape's Ticklish Updates

A Ticklish Featherscape Update (12/22/22)

It's not often I go to the library to write, but there's always been this odd mysticism with libraries. It's one of the few places anywhere that's intentionally quiet, open to anyone, and no one ever tries to sell you something. There's something about being surrounded by literature, walls of varying text bound like mysteries, that awaken the urge to add my own. Not that I feel like I ever have anything useful to say, but I can't deny the inviting charm of books. The scent, the feel, the enigma of what could lie behind the spines staring out at me, it's intoxicating. Plus, it's just nice to get out of the house once in a while.

I've been running the Featherscape channel for about 10 years now. It started as a hobby. Before that even, it was just me writing out my own ticklish fantasies as a means of visualizing my ideas and eventually uploading them out of sheer curiosity. Thanks to the (mostly) positive reception, it kicked off a desire to continue. All the positive comments and feedback had me thinking that I had some talent here, maybe. I didn't know about that, but I continued nonetheless. It was a great way to escape to my worlds of ideas and ticklish pleasures. The tickle-based romances that I wish I had. The fantasy world based on tickles. The haunted house wherein I could explore ticklish ideas with more intensity. It was all experimental and escapism, a vehicle that I never imagined would get as big as it had.

I used to have reservations about writing my stuff in public, but as I grew older, I started to care less and less. Hell, I even began designing channel merch that I was tempted to wear myself, even if I was the only one. I took pride in the Featherscape channel and it was all thanks to the support that I had accumulated over the years. Through then, though, it began to take over my life. It was something I worked on everyday, some days never leaving my home office. It was a beast in of itself, a tickle monster that would go after the sensitive nerves of my mind, tickling the insecurities and the like. The rush was always fun, but never without its hills and valleys. The job became just that, a job. And soon after, it became a job in which doubts and poor time management had me feeling like I needed to branch out and potentially outsource smaller jobs like social media manager, merchandising manager (getting ahead of myself), and maybe a ghost writer for updates. It was intense. The risk of running and expending it all was like a high, but no high is without its lows.

The library was quiet, as most of them are. It was also relatively empty. A few other people sat around reading and working while a kindly older lady stocked shelves from a cart. I've said that watching people is important to do as a writer, but to an extent it's nothing more than another excuse with which to procrastinate. I'm sure I could justify playing Pokemon and watching serial killer documentaries as also good to do as a writer, but it doesn't help the channel as much as, you know, writing. My lack of discipline has always been my Achilles heel. I forced my eyes back down to the page to continue the commission I was working on. That's when I heard someone approach.

"Whatcha doing?" she said. I looked up from my chair. Standing next to the table on which I was working was a girl. She was pretty, about my age, and seemed weirdly familiar, though I knew that I had never seen her before. Politely, I answered.

"Um, working," I said.

"Whatcha working on?" she pried. She stood with her hands behind her back. She was slender, cute, with light pink hair that draped down to her shoulders. She wore a long sleeve shirt with a skull and crossbones on the front, except the crossbones with two feathers and the skull wore a pink bow. A short white skirt fluttered across her thighs. I glanced back down to the page in front of me before answering.

"Oh, just stuff," I said. "I'm a writer."

"Just 'stuff'?" she asked. Her voice was sweet and mousey, something I'd expect to hear out of a girl much younger. "You don't think that your readers would want you to elaborate?" I blinked and furrowed my brow, not knowing how to respond.