The Ring doorbell chimed on my phone.

I opened the app and viewed the video feed.

A UPS driver stood on my porch, dropping off a package.

“Huh?” I paused, confused.

I hadn’t ordered a damn thing. So, I wasn’t expecting any delivery.

I raced to my front door and flung it open.

Too late. The driver was already gone from my porch.

I checked the package label. Wrong name, of course. But the street name? My own. The house number? Almost a match for mine—all except for one single, puny digit.

I couldn’t blame the driver for the numerical mix-up because the address label printed the numbers in a super-tiny font that made them all look identical.

As I stood there, holding someone else’s package, visions of some helpless person panicking over their lost cardboard treasure flashed through my mind. A rush of frustration and powerlessness from the futility of having your stuff delivered to the wrong house washed over me.

I decided, right then and there, that it was my solemn duty to prevent that profound existential dread.

I spotted the signature brown behemoth—the UPS truck—still parked a few houses up the street.

I had to flag him down before he vanished into the ether of a delivery schedule.

I sprinted up the pavement, package in hand, only to find the cab empty.

My head swiveled, scanning the neighbors’ perfectly manicured lawns, like a frantic surveillance drone.

​

Nothing. No driver anywhere.

​

Then, a head poked up from behind some tall hedges.

The figure was blurry.

I realized in my haste to achieve package-delivery justice, I had completely forgotten to put on my glasses.

I’m near-sighted, you see. Without my trusty spectacles, the world is clear-ish. It’s the tiny details at a distance—like, say, a small number on a shipping label or the face of a human man—that become a hazy blob. That’s why the law only requires me to wear them while driving.

Still, my eyesight was certainly good enough that I should have easily spotted the UPS driver’s signature brown uniform.

IF that is, this person wasn’t crouching like a secret agent behind a wall of foliage.

I went with the tried-and-true method: squinting. Sometimes that brings details into focus.

Not this time. I pursed my eyelids as tight as a drum, but the figure remained an uncategorizable smudge.

And this mysterious person just stood there, gazing back, as if I were the threat and those hedges were their only rampart.

In their defense, my stare was pretty creepy. So, it was my responsibility to put the poor, apprehensive soul at ease.

I waved the box in the air, a gesture of peace and lost commerce, and yelled, “UPS?”

The driver, as if enacting the exact opposite of the Homer Simpson retreat-into-the-bushes meme, finally emerged from the massive hedges.

He approached me skeptically and apprehensively.

“Wrong address,” I said.

As he drew closer, he repeated my address as if it were a sacred chant he had memorized for his daily ritual.

I showed him the label, pointing to the one incorrect, easily missed number.

The tension in the man’s face relaxed. I could practically see the thought bubble: “Phew, saved from the dreaded third strike that gets you fired!”

“Thank you so much,” he said.

And I awkwardly walked off into the blurry world, filled with a sense of pride for helping someone get their package.

Doing the right thing by strangers, and, by extension, my readers, is just how I operate.

I like to think my stories challenge conventional notions and explore complex philosophical ideas, but sometimes, being a good human comes down to fixing a simple mistake caused by tiny, poorly designed print.

I want the best for my readers, and that includes ensuring you receive your package. You’re not just a transaction to me; you’re a real person. And after saving that driver and that poor, panicked recipient, I felt pretty exhilarated myself.

It made me want to do something just for you to make you feel like a winner.

And since you’re new to the Vaudeverse saga, and clearly haven’t been scared off yet—which, seriously, are you okay?—I’m hooking you up with a Vaudeverse Starter Package: A small but mighty collection of my earliest novels that are usually available behind the walled garden of my premium membership and private community.

The Vaudeverse Starter Pack is your pass into this exclusive club. It’s designed for the curious, the adventurous, and those wanting to explore what all the excitement is about without a long-term commitment.

Why? Because my work isn’t for everyone, and I refuse to be just another subscription box author. I write my stories with intention, prioritizing depth over noise and choosing an authentically unconventional vision over chasing trends. I believe in giving you the whole, monumental experience so you can make an informed, passionate decision.

So, let me be transparent:

The Vaudeverse Starter Package is not the normal Vaudrium membership. It’s not a subscription. It’s a one-time payment. No auto-renewals, no sneaky fine print, no need to set up a calendar reminder to cancel. It’s a single transaction.

The price is ridiculously good. It’s nearly 50% off the usual monthly subscription price.

I always treat my early readers better, and this is my way of putting my money where my mouth is.

You’re taking a leap of faith into my off-kilter world, and I appreciate that sacrifice. That means giving you an eager on-ramp to this mind-bending series.

What you get is everything you need to start. We’re talking access to the foundational books, packed with high-octane excitement, intricate, plot-driven narratives, and a refreshingly offbeat tone—all hallmarks of the Vaudeverse saga.

If you’re tired of mainstream trends and conventional genres, you need to dive into the Vaudeverse saga. It’s a transformative experience that offers truly original and innovative concepts. You won’t find cheap experiences here; you’ll find immersive world-building that will transport you.

You also get a sneak peek into the Vaudrium community—a curated sanctuary designed for deep discussion, not doom-scrolling. It’s the antidote to “literary isolation.”

​

The Caveat (Because I’m Honest)

​

Since this isn’t the full, expansive Vaudrium experience, your access to the community will be intentionally limited. None of the regular membership perks—like the live Q&As—are included.

This is a no-frills, high-impact starting point.

But honestly, who cares about the frills right now? You’re getting the wondrous map, the first few installments of the sweeping legend, and a solid pair of boots—literally everything required to step through the portal and decide if this peculiar adventure is for you.

My goal isn’t to sign you up; it’s to get you hooked on a series that will challenge your perceptions and leave you with an intellectual and emotional wallop.

And this Starter Package gives you the whole, cohesive piece you need to make an informed decision. After you tear through it, you get to decide if you want to go further into this adventure.

Dive in, and let me know what you think. (I dare you.)

Get your Vaudeverse Starter Pack.

​https://vaudeverse.com/vaudeverse-starter-pack/​

Michael Martin