Well?

This is day 7 on antibiotics and I swear it's killing my creative brain cells as well as the infection. Here's the problem. I've worked on MRU's this last week and got about 1400 words using that formula. (Below is an example). And all I can say I'm learning the process. (slowly)

But it isn't going well. With a stuffy nose, scratchy throat, coughing and some pressure, (I sound like a Nyquil commercial). I'm just not feeling the love of the new direction of the story.

Let me show you my progress/process and see if you notice MRU.

Original: 

Rebel Tyler was so far outside her comfort zone when she opened the door to her bungalow, all she could see was the king sized bed along the left wall sticking out like a giant clown trying to stuff his body into a kiddie car at the circus. Never taking her eyes off the bed, she teetered in the doorway unable to make her feet take the first step inside. She needed courage, something she knew she didn’t normally have, but then she purposefully dwelled on her parents and Mr. Michaels waiting for her at brunch tomorrow morning, and the thought of them getting angrier and angrier by the minute when she didn’t show up was all the momentum she needed to take that first step across the threshold.

Revised:

As the bungalow door swung open, all Rebel Tyler could see was a king sized bed consuming every inch of an already cramped space – like one of those fat clowns that try to stuff themselves into the tiny cars at the circus. Seeing the bed, her heart skipped, and she froze on the step. “Just breathe girl,” she muttered and began to fan with her palm. She closed her eyes, her thoughts dancing in a thousand directions, she tried to concentrate on what brought her to this place. She began to imagine her parents and Mr. Michaels waiting for her at brunch in the morning. She could picture them in her mind fidgeting impatiently in their seats, their expressions growing more and more angry as they realized she wasn’t coming. The image made her smile, if only slightly, but the thought of standing them up emboldened her to go forward. Filled once more with singular intent she took a deep breath, wet her lips, and stepped purposefully across the threshold. 

The paragraph above is great. But I can't take credit for it. My son, Computer genius and writer extraordinaire gave it the oomph it needed. But more importantly demonstrated MRU. I must qualify that my lack of creating a picture with my words is I am on antibiotics and I wrote my paragraph on day 4 while sinus pain the size of a boulder was pressing against my cheeks and forehead. And my son has been using MRU and the Snowflake Method for years. I'm a newbie.

I have revised to fit my story. You can see below. 

Staring, but not really seeing anything, Rebel Tyler wondered if she could call the whole thing off. She still had time. She was certain Madame Eve could find her date, and she used that term loosely someone else. But then she remembered she had no phone and other than room service there would be no contact with Cayo Espanto, as she’d requested, until Monday. So focusing on the here and now, she let go of those thoughts. Letting her eyes drift along the horizon where blue sky met blue green water she searched her surroundings. Palm trees and lush green forest were to her right. In front and to her left was the ocean. Waves gently lapped against the shore and rocks placed at the edge of the sandy pathway, signaling the end of the island.

. . . . . . . . . 

Taking a deep breath to calm her racing pulse, Rebel hesitated slightly before pushing the door wide. She stood there, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. Her accommodations were made up of just two rooms; the bedroom directly in front of her and bath to her right. Looking around the room, she immediately noticed the colors outside continued inside. There was pristine teak flooring, wood paneled walls and tongue and groove ceiling above exposed beams. Another glass door trimmed in turquoise, like the one she’d just opened stood opposite her; the windows were in the same style. Her eyes traveled to her right, taking in cream furniture, a matching plush rug and silk shears. The color broke up the variant shades of brown and turquoise, giving the room a soothing tropical feel.

Making to step into inside, Rebel froze and her heart skipped a beat upon seeing the monstrosity posing as a king sized bed along the left wall. Suddenly the spacious room felt cramped – like a fat clown stuffing himself into one of those tiny cars at the circus. Her wide eyes were riveted to the four poster metal bed, her breath caught in her throat, blood pumped through her veins roaring in her ears. When her chest constricted and ached, she realized she wasn’t breathing.

 . . . . . . . . . 

“Oh, God,” she moaned, squeezing her legs together. Her nipples pebbled and her sex became wet. Rebel closed her eyes, her thoughts dancing in a thousand directions. She tried to concentrate on what brought her to this place. Instead of dwelling on tonight. So she imagined her parents and Mr. Michaels waiting for her at brunch in the morning. She could picture them in her mind fidgeting impatiently in their seats, their expressions growing more and more angry as they realized she wasn’t coming. The image made her smile, if only slightly, but the thought of standing them up emboldened her to move. Filled once more with a singular intent she took a deep breath, wet her lips, and stepped purposefully across the threshold. 

I hope you see the MRU's. And take note of the editing process. Hopefully this story will be out by the New Year and you can read it in its entirety then. 

See ya next week.