Writing, Regency Gown in Ink

I'm stuck. I’m writing and writing and writing everyday but don’t know if I’m on the right track. It turns out your heroine must be real and can’t run for three hours in a underground tunnel to escape from the horrors that are happening in her family’s remote home.

My editor suggested writing about something else. Something mundane to bring the five senses into my writing.   

Here’s my first attempt:

The stagnant smell of neglect permeated the room leaving a dusty taste in his mouth. In the corner, the hard corners of the dark wooden desk were hidden beneath mounds of crumpled and scattered pages. A torn sheet from a pad of lined paper was slightly visible among the disarray. The draft from closing the tiny room’s door caused a long forgotten ‘to-do’ list to dance.  At the same time, the window adjacent to the desk let a tiny whistle of air into the chaotic space. He touched his father’s desk reverently as if in doing so he could finally say goodbye to the man, he realized now he had idolized. 

The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it; for he founded it on the seas and established it on the waters. Psalm 24:1-2