# Barnaby and the Almost-Perfect Flying Machine **Target Age:** 4–6 years old **Setting:** A cozy, cluttered treehouse workshop filled with whirring gears, ticking clocks, and half-built gadgets **Lesson:** Mistakes are just stepping stones to success; perseverance and taking your time lead to the best creations **Style:** Bouncy, energetic, and humorous, featuring fun sound words (onomatopoeia) and a lively, playful rhythm --- ## The Story --- ### Page 1 High up in the tallest oak tree in the whole wide wood, there lived a small, round-bellied bear named Barnaby. His treehouse workshop smelled of sawdust and cinnamon, and it was *stuffed* — absolutely BURSTING — with whirring gears and ticking clocks and half-built gadgets stacked all the way to the ceiling. Barnaby wore enormous brass goggles on his fuzzy forehead, a tool belt that always leaned sideways, and the biggest ideas of anyone in the whole wide wood. On the highest shelf sat six Almost-Inventions: a lopsided springy shoe, a backwards-spinning fan, a hat that was *supposed* to pour hot cocoa but mostly just dripped on noses. Barnaby never looked at that shelf. His biggest idea — the one he thought about from his very first blink every morning — was the Perfect Flying Machine. *But Barnaby had a secret...* --- ### Page 2 Every single morning, Barnaby pulled out his blueprints, licked the end of his pencil, and muttered: "Today. TODAY is the day." Clocks went *tick-tick-tick.* Gears went *whirr-whirr-whirr.* His whole workshop hummed like a happy beehive. Barnaby measured. He hammered. He tightened bolts with his special tightening wrench. And then — *BONK* — a gear would slip. A bolt would wobble. A spring would go *BOING* somewhere under the workbench. And Barnaby would stare at his not-quite-right invention, feel a tight, twisty, terrible feeling in his tummy, and say the same words he always said: **"It's not perfect. That means it's ruined."** *CLANK.* Off the workbench it went. And Barnaby would flop into his thinking chair and eat a biscuit. But somewhere deep in his chest, a small sad voice whispered: *Maybe you're just not a real inventor.* *Today, though, Barnaby had a PLAN...* --- ### Page 3 The plan was WINGS. Magnificent, magnificent wings! Copper-feathered wings with a brass spring engine in the middle — *SPROING-SPROING-SPROING* — to make them flap! Barnaby measured twice. He hammered carefully. His tongue poked out the side of his mouth the way it always did when he was concentrating very, very hard. He smelled oil and sawdust. He heard *tick-tick-tick-tick* as the spring engine wound up tight. He felt the satisfying *click* of each copper feather locking into place. He climbed onto his launch stool, spread his glorious wings wide, and squeezed his eyes shut. "Three... two... one—" He pulled the lever. *SPROING! Flap — flap — flap —* **CLUNK.** One wing flopped up. One wing flopped sideways. The spring engine went *boing... boing... boing...* and fell on the floor with a small, soggy, defeated little clatter. *Barnaby opened one eye.* --- ### Page 4 His ears went flat. His paws went hot. His tummy felt like a jar of angry bees buzzing all at once. **"It's not perfect. That means it's ruined."** *CRASH.* Off the workbench went the wings. *STOMP-STOMP-STOMP* went Barnaby across the floor. *THUMP* went Barnaby into his thinking chair. He ate not one biscuit. Not two biscuits. But three biscuits and a half, which is the exact number of biscuits it takes when something feels very, very unfair. He stared at the ceiling. The clocks ticked. The gears whirred. And Barnaby felt his big idea shrinking smaller and smaller inside his chest. But then — from the corner of his eye — he spotted something. A tiny copper spring, sitting alone on the floor. Just waiting. Just resting. Just... *ready.* *Something tickled the back of Barnaby's brain.* --- ### Page 5 By the very next morning, Barnaby had a BRAND NEW plan. Not wings. Better than wings. A Propeller Hat! A magnificent, whizzical, absolutely-definitely-going-to-work Propeller Hat with four shiny silver blades and a great big wind-up key sticking right out the back! He wound it up. *Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick—TICK.* He adjusted his goggles. He puffed out his chest. He gripped the brim of the hat with both paws. "This time," he told himself, "it will be perfect." He let go of the key. *WHOOOOOOOOOOSH!* The propeller spun — the wrong way — so fast it made a hurricane right there in the workshop! *WHOOOOSH!* Blueprints flew! Gears clattered and danced! Barnaby's goggles fogged up completely white! And then every single blueprint — every drawing, every measurement, every idea — spiraled out the treehouse window like a paper snowstorm. --- ### Page 6 "Oh no — oh NO — oh NOOOOOOO!" Barnaby scrambled to the window just in time to see his blueprints floating and fluttering through the evening sky — and Papá Owl gliding past on his great grey wings, catching them one by one, calm as a cloud. "I believe these are yours, little inventor," Papá Owl said warmly, passing them back through the window in a neat stack. Barnaby's face went hot. His ears went flatter than flat. He took the blueprints and held them to his chest and his voice came out no bigger than a whisper. **"It's not perfect. That means it's ruined,"** he said. Papá Owl tilted his round head. His amber eyes were very soft. "Is it ruined?" he said gently. "Or is it just not *finished* yet?" *But Barnaby was too embarrassed to hear. He shut the window. He sat down on the floor.* *And that's when something changed.* --- ### Page 7 Barnaby sat in the middle of his workshop floor. Scattered around him were bent gears, tangled springs, bits of copper wing, and all his blueprints in a great big jumble. The clocks ticked loudly — *tick-tick-tick-tick* — like they were counting every single thing that had gone wrong. The smell of sawdust made his nose prickle. He picked up one blueprint. Then another. Then another. These were all his ruined inventions. His thrown-away ideas. His not-good-enoughs. And then — very slowly, like a sun coming up — Barnaby noticed something he had never noticed before. On every blueprint, there were marks. Crossed-out lines. Changed numbers. Notes in his own small handwriting: *Try shorter here. More spring here. This bit was CLOSE!* His tummy unclenched — just a tiny, hopeful little bit. *Wait,* thought Barnaby. *Wait, wait, wait...* --- ### Page 8 He dug to the very bottom of the pile. There it was. The Flying Machine blueprint. The first one. The original. It was absolutely *covered* in marks. Crossed-out wings. Scribbled measurements. Changed gears. Notes that said: *SPROING too big — try smaller spring.* And: *Propeller blade backwards — flip it!* And, in very small writing in the corner: *You were SO CLOSE on this one.* Barnaby read every single mark. Each mark was a mistake he had thrown away. But sitting here on the floor, with sawdust on his nose and biscuit crumbs on his sideways tool belt, every single mark looked... different. They didn't look like failures. They looked like *steps.* Like a staircase — a wonky, beautiful, one-at-a-time staircase — leading somewhere better. His chest filled up warm and fizzy, all the way to his ears. *Barnaby put on his goggles. His paws felt ready.* --- ### Page 9 This time, Barnaby worked slowly. He tried a smaller spring. *Click.* It fit! He flipped the propeller blade. *Snick.* It spun the right way — *whirr-whirr-whirr* — like a tiny happy helicopter! He added a gear. It wobbled. He added a smaller gear right beside it. *Tick. Tick. Tick-tick-TICK.* When a bolt bent, Barnaby said quietly: "That's a stepping stone." When a wing drooped, he said: "That's a stepping stone." When a gear went *CLUNK* and rolled under the workbench, he fished it out with his special fishing-out-stick, found a better gear, and said: "THAT is also a stepping stone, and I am very glad I found it." And slowly — wonkily — *beautifully* — a Flying Machine took shape. It had one big wing and one slightly smaller wing. It had a propeller that spun just a tiny bit lopsided. It had a spring engine that went *boing-boing-boing* in the most cheerful way imaginable. It was not perfect. *It was something better than that.* --- ### Page 10 Barnaby stood on his launch stool. He held his breath. He looked at his glorious, lopsided, boing-boing Flying Machine — and he felt something brand new in his chest: warm and fizzy and brave, like sunshine and ginger biscuits all mixed up together. He said the words. **"It's not perfect."** He paused. He grinned the largest, roundest, most enormous grin that a small round-bellied bear had ever grinned in the whole history of the wood. **"That means... it's just getting started."** He pulled the lever. *SPROING — BOING — WHOOOOOOOOSH —* --- ### Page 11 UP went Barnaby! Out the window! Past the oak tree branches! Into the great wide blue sky, where the air smelled like pine needles and distant rain and absolute adventure! The Flying Machine went *boing-boing-boing* and tilted left and *whirred* and tilted right, and Barnaby steered with his ears — one up, one down — and laughed so hard his goggles fogged up completely. Down below, Papá Owl looked up from his reading. A slow smile spread across his feathery face. "There he goes," said Papá Owl. The wind tasted cold and delicious. The whole wood spread out below like a crinkly green blanket. And Barnaby flew over every bit of it, boing-boinging along, because the best flights aren't always the smoothest ones — they're just the ones that *get off the ground.* --- ### Page 12 That evening, Barnaby landed back in his treehouse workshop with a soft *CLUNK* and a cheerful *boing-boing.* The clocks ticked warmly. The gears whirred like a purring cat. Sawdust drifted through the golden evening air. Barnaby reached up to the highest shelf — the shelf of Almost-Inventions — and looked at every single one of them. The springy shoe. The backwards fan. The cocoa hat. He didn't see failures anymore. He saw stepping stones. He picked up a brand new blank blueprint. He pulled out his pencil, licked the end, and sat down at his workbench. The whole workshop smelled of sawdust and cinnamon and possibility — the very same smell as always, but sweeter now, somehow. And in the corner of the very first page, in his very best handwriting, Barnaby wrote just three words: *Step One. Begin.* --- ## Story Notes for the Illustrator **Illustration 1 — The Workshop Opening (Page 1)** Wide, warm double-spread of Barnaby's treehouse interior. The workshop is gloriously cluttered: copper gears on strings, clocks of every size, half-built contraptions on every surface. Warm amber and honey-gold colour palette — lantern light, wood tones, glowing brass. Barnaby stands small in the centre wearing oversized goggles pushed up on his fuzzy brown forehead, tool belt sagging sideways. The high shelf with the Almost-Inventions is visible in the background but slightly shadowed, hinting at its importance. Include a tiny detail: one spring on the floor near the edge of the workbench, as if it just fell. **Illustration 2 — The First Failure (Page 4)** Barnaby in his thinking chair, arms crossed, paws hot-looking (show blush marks on cheeks), one copper wing flopped sadly on the floor beside him. Three biscuits on the armrest. His ears pressed absolutely flat against his head. The colour palette shifts slightly cooler — blues and grey-greens creeping into the warm amber — to signal the emotional dip. Small visual gag: one copper feather has landed perfectly in the biscuit tin. **Illustration 3 — The Propeller Hurricane (Page 5–6)** Full slapstick spread: blueprints spiraling everywhere, Barnaby's goggles completely fogged white, the propeller hat spinning wildly, gears dancing on shelves. Then Papá Owl (a dignified, large-eyed tawny owl with reading glasses) gliding past the window catching blueprints with great serenity. High-energy, diagonal composition. Lots of swooping lines to convey wind and chaos. **Illustration 4 — The Blueprint Discovery (Page 7–8)** Barnaby on the workshop floor, surrounded by scattered blueprints. This is the emotional pivot — the lighting should shift from cold-blue back toward warm gold, as if a lantern just brightened. Show Barnaby's face in close-up: goggles resting on his nose for the first time (not pushed up), brow furrowed in concentration, a dawning warmth in his expression. Show the blueprint clearly with visible crossed-out notes and encouraging margin scribbles. One note reads *You were SO CLOSE* in childlike handwriting. **Illustration 5 — The Launch (Page 10)** Barnaby on his launch stool, one paw on the lever, the Flying Machine fully assembled behind him. The machine is gloriously imperfect: one wing noticeably larger than the other, the propeller slightly askew, the spring engine visible and gleaming. Barnaby's grin is enormous. The colour palette is now fully warm gold and sunrise orange. Motion lines suggest the whole room is holding its breath. Small detail: Papá Owl's face visible in the window, watching. **Illustration 6 — The Flight (Page 11)** Barnaby soaring above the treetops in his boing-boing Flying Machine, goggles fogged from laughing, ears used as rudders (one up, one down). The wood below is a beautiful patchwork of green and gold. The machine looks magnificent in its imperfection — sparkling in the evening light. Papá Owl visible far below, tiny, looking up with a smile. The colour palette peaks here: deep blues, warm golds, a blush-pink horizon. This is the image that should make a child want to *fly.* **Colour Palette Summary:** - Warm base: honey gold, burnt amber, cinnamon brown (the workshop at rest) - Tension: steel blue, slate grey, cool shadow (failure moments) - Triumph: sunrise orange, deep sky blue, warm brass-gold (the flight) - Recurring accent: copper and green — used throughout for gears, gadgets, and nature **Character Design Notes — Barnaby:** Small, stocky, round-bellied brown bear. Shorter than he is wide. Enormously expressive fuzzy face. His goggles (brass rims, green-tinted glass) are his signature — pushed up on his forehead when working, dropped over his eyes at key moments. Tool belt always tilted to the left. Wears a cream-coloured workshop apron with many pockets, each one with something slightly wrong sticking out. His paws are slightly oversized for his body — good for comedy, and good for showing expression (curled in frustration, open with joy, cupped around blueprints with care). --- ## Read-Aloud Checklist - [x] Every scene includes 3–4 sensory details - [x] Emotions are shown in the body before being named (tummy like bees, paws hot, ears flat, chest warm and fizzy) - [x] Core lesson is never stated directly — only shown through Barnaby's stepping-stone realization and successful flight - [x] Rule of Three is used: 2 failures (wings, propeller hat) → 1 success (the Flying Machine) - [x] The "Repeat & Shift" phrase appears 3 times: defeat → pause → triumph ("It's not perfect. That means it's ruined." / "It's not perfect. That means... it's just getting started.") - [x] Every page ends with a reason to turn (micro-cliffhanger or planted curiosity) - [x] Prose sounds musical when read aloud — bouncy rhythm, varying sentence length, alliteration, onomatopoeia (SPROING, BOING, WHOOOOSH, CLUNK, tick-tick-tick, whirr-whirr-whirr) - [x] Emotional arc: warm/safe (pages 1–3) → tension/worry (pages 4–6) → safe-scare floor moment (pages 7–8) → relief/triumph (pages 9–12)