Sickness, that final frontier...

Well, I'm in that rut again. I was cranking along on my story that really needs a title--I'm sick of calling it Rafe of Mardu--when I just settled into a "where is this story going?" mode? Normally I have a general idea of length, especially after the first few chapters. But with this one, it keeps wanting to be shorter, the publisher hints that they want it longer, but I don't see it going anywhere unless my characters start unveiling their hidden motivations.
I think it might be the heroine that's thrown me, because she's strong yet very vulnerable, and I haven't yet reached the point where she starts showing her weak spots. I'm impatient to get there, to see how the hero will react. But unlike some writers, I have to write my story in order. I never write the end or a middle scene and work around it. So I need to let the rest of the story flow and carry me to where I need to be right now.
It doesn't help that I'm suffering a stomach virus, or that I feel like the world's worst mother because I don't have the energy to play with my 2 year old much, so I'm letting the TV entertain him. (Ack. Yet another Backyardigans song stuck in my head.) And my night time writing has been nonexistent since I can't focus on more than how sick I feel.
Okay, enough of the pity party. I'll try to manage something good this weekend, and do my best to fill in another few chapters and maybe grab a title for this poor story.
Hope you all have a nice weekend, at least.